The Villains of Gotham
by Ink Parallax
Summary: Brianna had thought that her life had finally settled into a sort of normality. She had enemies, though they were vaguely childish, and she had a boyfriend, though it was more like a crush. Then she got struck in the back of the head with the butt of a gun. What more can you expect of Gotham? OCxJonathan Crane - Rating has changed. Strong language.
1. Sixpence

_**Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye.**_

* * *

'_There are plenty of villains in Gotham. But there is only one hero. There is only one Batman. Sure, he has his super-sidekicks, but that's all they really are; his helpers. The only individual hero we have in Gotham is Batman. We all know that.'_

Even Brianna had to know that.

She sighed and thrust a strand of brown hair away from her face. Brianna was a writer. She wrote for the newspapers, articles on the ever present issues discussed in Gotham. She wanted her own column, and she was getting close.

She had decided that the one thing that would get her that column was an exposé on Batman. Sure, it had been done before, but who ever read those? Everyone? Ok, so maybe everyone did read them, but she wanted to make a defining moment out of a single column about Batman and his villains that no-one else could top.

So far, everything she wrote was trash.

Brianna growled as she quickly backspaced through the paragraph she had rewritten for the umpteenth time. She had wasted almost an hour and fifty minuets at this point. She had finally leaned back in her chair, grumbled, and realized she was getting absolutely nowhere.

Outside of her cramped office the fellow workpeople of her newspaper bustled this way and that, conversing and discussing their ideas. Brianna could hear Kendall blurting out random shit to Yuki out in the hallway, and her scowl only deepened. The blond bimbo was probably freezing her boobs off, what, with the weather outside cooling rapidly and the repair men refusing to yet get the fucking heater finished. Like she would care. She still wore too-low-cut shirts and skirts that were hiked up too high to tempt the passing men in the office a quick glance at her undergarments.

She could imagine Yuki, smiling politely and allowing her to go on. The half Japanese-half American man too nice to simply tell the slut to back off. Brianna liked to think she was friends with Yuki. Hell, everyone liked to think they were friends with Yuki. He was just one of those kinds of people.

However, the thought of him out in the hallway, allowing Kendall to flirt with him simply added more stress into Brianna's life. She glared up at the cracks in the ceiling. Her life was a living Hell.

Explaining her life in a bit more detail might be of more use.

Brianna Clark was currently living her life off of a measly paycheck handed to her every four weeks for doing the job she thought she would love doing. Reporting the life of crime to Gotham every week in the news paper. However, it turned out not to be so easy. Instead, she was paid little, and lived in a crummy apartment not so far from likeliness to the Narrows. No, not far geographically, either.

She had assumed things would get a little better when she met Yuki Nekozawa, the pleasant Japanese-American man that resides very high up in manning the Gotham news papers. He was undeniably cute, with a partially American look to him, and a very Japanese name. Dark black hair and almost white skin, but wide eyes and a tall posture. However, he had a narrow chin, and a thin physique. His eyes were green, as green as the grass in the summer. Well, the grass anywhere but the dingy streets of Gotham where there was no grass. Maybe in Brianna's nanny's garden, instead.

However, all that possible better-ness was swept out the window when Kendall Glenn moved into the office. She was perky, blond, and as stupid as a block of wood. She thought she was everything. To Brianna Clark she was nothing but a pair of boobs. She was sure that was what just about everyone who had ever met her thought, too. Besides her parents; they probably thought she was a very, very disappointing pair of boobs.

Kendall had taken an immediate liking to Yuki, and Brianna couldn't help but take it personally. She felt as this were an attack, just because she had taken a serious interest in pursuing the beautiful young man. She wasn't so sure, however, when that blond ass moved in on him.

Then Kendall got the column, and all because she had boobs. Brianna felt sick whenever she was near her, mostly because she looked like a living Barbie doll. She should be a hooker or something instead of coming into _her _workplace and taking _her _man.

Ok, she was being a tad overdramatic. She was stressed! What could she say?

Brianna stood from her chair abruptly and stomped to the door. She could hear Kendall's annoying little titter, and slammed the door shut, cutting off her next couple words. She didn't want to hear it, not when she was trying to work, at least. There was any other time of the day available, just not now.

She sat back down in her chair, her brow furrowed. Suddenly, she smirked.

Yeah, a lot of people on the writing team for the Gotham Daily were definitely pro-Batman. But what if she did something that was against him? That was different from what most people on the paper did. It would stand out, she knew it would.

Besides, it was exactly what she needed, pouring all of her negative energy into dishing it out on the Batman. She liked him well enough. He helped out the city and beat up all the criminals, but she had a feeling there wouldn't be nearly as many criminals if he didn't even exist. A lot of the people on the streets simply wanted him dead, and that's why they were out there. Then again, if he disappeared she was sure that there would be an influx in the number of criminals out there, as well. She didn't mention that last part in her article.

The hours passed quickly. Brianna could admit that she spent most of her time sitting there, annoyance on her face and thinking about Yuki and Kendall and what her editor would think. Her muse simply wasn't completely with her.

Finally, however, she hit the period key for the last time.

Her eyes slid over the technological paper, and slowly a grimace formed on her face. At this time, however, she didn't think that she could possibly write anything better. She edited it to the best of her ability, set to print two of it, (one for her and one for her editor) saved it, and stood to stretch.

When she opened the door, she was greeted with silence. A frown formed on her face; she had worked so long that everyone else had left. She grumbled to herself and made her way to the printer room, in no special hurry to get there. When she did, her article hadn't even finished printing. She hung her head, touching her chin to her chest, tapped her foot, and crossed her arms. She sighed. She blew a raspberry. Finally, the printer was done sputtering some lovely dubstep and grabbed the papers.

She looked over them, before a frown formed on her face. These weren't her-

"Oh, hey. I thought I was the only one left here."

The sound of his cool, relaxed laugh made her freeze in place. Her shoulders stiffened, and her heart seemed to stop in place. Slowly, Brianna turned. Standing there, as if sent by heaven, was Yuki. He smiled at her and she felt her heart jump back to life, working double-time.

"Working hard or hardly working—Brianna, right?" He laughed. Brianna's breath caught as he said her name. Was he singing? He couldn't possibly be singing. Why would he be singing?

She looked around, her messy brown hair falling in front of her face, half expecting Kendall to squeeze out of the fax machine and laugh her bubbly-boob laugh. Scratch that—giggle. Just thinking about it made her wince.

"Th-that was a bad joke, wasn't it?" Yuki stuttered. Brianna snapped out of her thought's and looked up at him, eyes wide and cheek's bright pink.

"N-no! No, it was funny! I-I was just, er…" She sighed as she trailed off. "This is yours." She grumbled, shoving the papers into his chest. He jumped, before finally grasping the papers and giving her an awkward smile. The printer behind her began to sputter again and she turned away, cursing her pink cheeks to hell underneath her breath. She closed her eyes tightly when she realized that she had just made a complete and utter fool of herself right in front of Yuki. She had just stood there, staring at him! He probably thought she was an idiot, and compared to Malibu Barbie. She scoffed and rolled her eyes inwards at her own stupidity.

"I-I w-w-w-was j-j-just, er, uhm…" she mouthed, mocking herself.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?"

The printer spat out the front page of Brianna's expose, con-Batman, and fell silent, finally and gratefully finished with its job. She stared at it for a moment, wondering if she had imagined those beautiful words. If she had been dreaming of it for so long that the words drifted through her mind and became almost tangible. Or, perhaps she had finally snapped after working in this goddamn shit-hole of an office.

"I mean, sometime? W-we don't have to right now, of course. There's always tomorrow…" He trailed off. Brianna turned around and stared at him. He was still standing there. She wasn't imagining this. "Never mind. Obviously you're busy. Right? Sorry I asked-"

"No!" Brianna yelped as he turned around and he jerked to a stop. He spun on his heel unsteadily and looked at her, eyes wide. Her face blazed red in embarrassment as she realized that she had just yelled at him. She had just _yelled _at _Yuki,_ of all the fucking people- "I-I mean, uh." Brianna squeezed her eyes shut. 'Words, Brianna, _words! _They're your life, you should know them!' "I would love to go to dinner with you."

When she opened her eyes, Yuki was still standing there, looking relieved.

"Great! That's—that's great." He smiled at her and she almost fainted then and there. She felt woozy, and prayed to whatever god was up there that she wouldn't vomit on his shoes. "I-I'll pick you up—tomorrow—at, uhm, eight? Eight is good for you, right?"

Brianna nodded pathetically and his smile widened.

"I'm just gunna…" he awkwardly gestured to the door. "Bye." He turned and walked away, glancing over his shoulder once and almost tripping over his own wobbly feet. Brianna hardly noticed. She was staring, but she wasn't seeing.

Had that really just…?

She looked down at her shoes, then up at the ceiling, trembling. An irresistible urge came over her and she couldn't stop herself. She jumped up and down, her eyes screwed shut, the brightest smile on her face ever as she did a little dance in place, spinning around and running on the spot, her hands clenched in a fist on her paper, crumpling it like mad in the process. She didn't care. Yuki Nekozawa had just asked her out. _Yuki _fucking _Nekozawa!_ She squealed silently, her grin unable to get any wider. It simply was impossible!

When her heart rate finally went down and her head was clear after several unsteady breaths, she made her way to drop off her paper at the editor's desk with a smile. Finally—it seemed like life was going her way.

That is, until she woke up the next morning.

She groggily opened her eyes, rubbing them on her forearm and sighed, staring up at her ceiling. It was covered in cracks and water stains, and she could hear the person above her peeing, for god's sake. She grumbled to herself, before she realized something was wrong. The person above her was never up before her, not ever.

Her head shot to the side and her eyes widened, taking it in. Then she leapt out of bed at speeds that would have surprised her, were she not so infuriated.

"Fucking shit alarm clock!" She shrieked as she tried to make herself look relatively decent. She raced around her apartment, jumping into a pair of pants she was pretty sure she wore two days ago, but she didn't care. Her job was on the damn line.

Brianna ran a brush through her messy, dull brown hair and, in a sense of hurry, poked herself in the eye trying to get her contacts in.

"Screw it!" She shrieked, grabbing her old pair of glasses and abandoning the mess she had made. She raced out of her apartment, clutching her bag in her hands. A paper fluttered out behind her in the hallway and she gave it no attention, stuffing the rest of the pages that were desperately trying to get away back into the folders they belonged in.

She made it to the parking lot, stumbling across the pavement on heels she should be used to by now, and decided from now on it would be Chuck Taylors on her feet, no exceptions. She threw her stuff in, paying no heed to the fact that she would have to pick it up later, and jumped into the driver's side of her car. She jammed the key in the ignition, and turned it.

The car sputtered, then stopped, sputtered, then stopped again.

Brianna shrieked in indignation.

"You will start, you _goddamn_ piece of _shit_, or so help me I will _rip_ you _limb_ from greasy _fucking_ _limb_ and sell you for parts!"

As if frightened by her enraged the car jumped to life. She grinned a nasty grin that was without happiness at her success and sped out of the parking lot.

She ran two red lights, but she didn't care. She probably wouldn't get a ticket, anyway. The cops were too busy dealing with bigger criminals than those who ran a bloody light in an intersection with barely any traffic.

When she made it to the office, she was practically crushing her teeth into her gums. She shot into a parking space, almost hitting the car in front of her, and grabbed her folders before rushing inside.

When she stepped into the office, she realized immediately that all eyes were on her. Brianna froze, before taking a deep breath and swiftly ignoring the stares. So she was late; big fucking deal. She kept her head high and walked through the office, ignoring the looks. At least, until Kendall walked past her, chatting amiably with none other than Yuki.

Brianna stumbled, almost falling flat on her face before catching herself on someone's desk. She froze, glancing sideways at the rather bulky man who was sitting there. He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes a strange forest green and Brianna had to double check herself. Had she seen this man before?

She blinked. Of course she did; he worked in her office.

Brianna stood quickly, brushing down her shirt, and swiftly came face-to-face with another one of her co-workers.

"The boss wants to see you in his office," he said, smirking sourly at her. "He's been asking for you all morning." With that he walked away, sashaying across the office and Brianna came close to following and ripping his pretty little perm right out of his head. Swiftly, she got herself in check and turned towards the door marked 'Editor; Mark Richards.'

She grumbled to herself and walked across the office, wondering if this was it. She was going to be jobless, living in the Narrows, trying to make ends meet and only meeting the end of some rapists mea-

The pushed open the door and was greeted by the strong smell of coffee and printer ink, both things that she had never really enjoyed the smell of. She didn't understand why Richards could stand it twenty four seven—then again, he reeked of it, otherwise, so he probably didn't even notice.

"Clark! You're late!" He barked. Brianna opened her mouth to make an excuse, but she should have known better than that. "Nevermind, shut the door. Get in here."

Brianna sighed and shut the door, stepping in and sitting down in the chair in front of him. He looked at her, his eyes accented darkly by his large eyebrows and Neanderthal forehead. He always seemed to be glaring at people. He was much too gruff to be placed in an office building; Brianna had always thought that he would look much better in a construction site somewhere.

She couldn't deny the fact that he was good at his job, however. Despite how hard it was to admit, he was a genius of a man when it came to what the people wanted to hear. He was often spitting about how the rest of his crew was made up of incompetent fools and he could do the job by himself if he needed to, but the truth was he probably couldn't. Brianna had enough sense in her to know that he needed some of those people out there to get anywhere.

She paused, taking a couple seconds to register what he had just said before knitting her brows together, frowning.

"Wait, 'Nevermind?' What's going on-"

"If you would sit still for a minute and listen I'd tell ya'!" He barked, shooting a glare at her as he lounged in his seat. Not leaving any time for her to say something, even if she wanted to, he continued. "I got your entry last night. Thought it was pretty good. So I sent it up."

Brianna's eyes widened. He… sent it up? The corners of her mouth twitched, and she felt the beginnings of a smile. That was a big thing—to have the articles sent to their higher-ups was _huge. _The people that ran the paper were said to be snobby—and they ran more than just the paper, so Brianna figured they had some right. They worked a lot on media, so they had news stations and some other fun stuff like that running through Gotham.

"They're… well, they're impressed. They wanna put your story on the cover—after some revising, of course, and they wanna see what else you got."

Brianna stared at him, her smile slowly turning into a grin. Richards gave her an annoyed look.

"Well? Get back to work!" He yelped, and she nodded, quickly jumping out of her seat.

"Thank you, so much! You won't regret it, I swear!" She laughed, and he rolled his eyes. She knew what was left unsaid, however. Sure, the best pieces always got the front cover—usually it was assigned, but on special occasions, like this one, it could be given to someone else. 'They wanna see what else you got.' That meant that she was in the running to get her _own column. _She struggled to resist jumping up and doing a little jig right then and there.

"Get out of here, Clark." She nodded, still grinning, and turned and walked out of the office. She was making front page! _Her _story! She looked out at all of the people in the office, those who stared at her, and she found Kendall in the small mass of bustling human-beings. Her nose twitched, her eyes narrowed. She was better than that no-good Barbie-bitch; she had made front page, while the blond idiot was still on thin ice trying to prove herself to the higher-ups. And, even better—it was a fucking Friday.

Yeah. Life was hella _good. _

* * *

**_A/U: Hello. :) I thought I might as well hop on this Dark Knight bandwagon before it's too late. D: I have a feeling, however, that the Dark Knight Rises is going to drag this fanfiction catagory to the top of the popular movies list. The first line is based on a nursery rhyme, a theme I plan on keeping throuought the story, at least until the lines run out. There are only eight, after-all, and I hope that this story will be longer than 8 chapters._**

_I do not own Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, or The Dark Knight Rises, nor anything or anyone affiliated with each movie._


	2. Blackbird

_**Four and twenty blackbirds baked into a pie.**_

Jonathan Crane smirked to himself as he gathered his brief-case. He could simply imagine the night ahead of him with a strange sort of excitement that he only got when he was about to conduct one of his experiments. The thought of watching those who dared glare at him and think that he was no better than them squirm and scream in terror.

He reached into his coat, feeling where he had tucked away his mask and walked swiftly down the pavement. His… _charge _wasn't too far away now.

He quickened his pace, doing his best to look like the normal kind of person to walk around this late at night. It was a tad difficult, being in his suit and expensive shoes. He comforted himself in the fact that if anyone tried to point him out he could take them down.

His gaze darkened. Ever since those _idiots _tried to take him out—Batman wannabe's!—he had decided enough was enough. He needed to make sure that it would never happen again, and thus he decided some lessons were in store. He had never had the need to 'work-out' as it were, when he was on-top, when he fucking owned Arkham and every little psycho within its walls. The idea of power made him shiver, but it was cold enough that he could pass it off as the temperature giving him tremors. Suddenly, he found that he was going to do his best to intimidate.

As he was walking, however, someone in particular caught his attention, pulling him from his thoughts. A young brunette stood on the side-walk in front of some dingy apartment building, wearing high heels and a black cocktail dress. Her eyes were lined darkly, but her blue gaze was shockingly pale, like ice.

He recognized her from somewhere, but he wasn't quite sure where. Then it clicked; she worked with the man that he had a certain 'business meeting' with in—he glanced at his watch—14 minutes. She hugged her arms and shivered in the cold, watching the streets intently.

He frowned. That wasn't it. Of course, she worked with the man, but he knew her name. Brianna Clark. Why?

That wasn't important right now. He looked away from her, continuing on. Something much more… _interesting_ was waiting for him.

Brianna sighed and rubbed her arms, trying to keep herself warm as she waited eagerly for Yuki to come and pick her up. She had gone through the painstaking process of shaving her legs for the occasion, and dragging the black dress out from the back of her closet. She knew about fashion, but it had never been a big deal to her.

She watched the cars on the street, doing her best to ignore the young man in the nice suit's eyes. He stared at her for several long moments, his steps slowing, before speeding up again and walking away.

Finally, after waiting for what seemed like too long, a car pulled up to the curb. Then out stepped Yuki, and he smiled at her easily. She grinned back as he gazed at her, watching as she swiftly stepped into the passenger side and they pulled away to get on with their date.

However, as they drove down the road, she couldn't help but think about the strange man who had lingered too long. She vaguely recognized him, but it was too dark to properly make out his face. It wasn't that she had ever seen him before in person, it was more of she recognized a celebrity on the streets, like seeing Bruce Wayne walking around. But that didn't seem right, especially in the Narrows.

She almost laughed. Then again, she was sure she would recognize the Joker waddling around down there, if she ever saw him, that is.

* * *

Brianna had never stayed out so late in her adult life, she was sure. Thus she could be classified as a bore because it was only until twelve o' clock. She had always been too busy with school and intent on getting her sleep—for a while, she had gone to school to be a nurse; one of only many of the long line of 'hobbies' she picked up only to be tossed down the drain. Then she decided once and for all that she had to go with what she loved—the news, the fame, the fortune, and the ever-so important things to those that had nothing else to worry about except for other people's dainty—or dangerous—lives. Where people depended on them to feed them the truth.

_Or be none the wiser if I was to slip in a little poison. _She was slightly shocked by the dark thought, but shook it off.

The point was that Yuki returned her home very late, after eating dinner and catching a new-release that had the theatre packed with squealing fan-girls. Still, there she stood, on the front porch of her apartment with her heart pounding in her chest and feeling elated. She smiled at him, and he smiled at her.

"I… I had a great night," Brianna smiled at him, blushing. He grinned back, his pale cheeks growing pink, as well, and shuffled his feet.

"I did, too. You're… you're _great, _Brianna," he murmured. He was standing closer, and Brianna smiled up at him.

In her mind, this was as good as it got. A man who liked her, a man who had boyfriend potential.

"I've liked you for a while," he mumbled, his cheeks turning even redder. "I mean, I've s-seen you around, and I just-" He cut off abruptly, looking down at his feet, bashful.

Brianna suddenly had an urge, and she looked up at him, smiling brightly.

"Do you… wanna come inside, or something?" She said swiftly. His head shot up and he looked at her, his eyes wide, before he realized what, exactly, she meant. He nodded slowly, grinning, and she turned and led him in, glancing back over her shoulder at him and giving him a bright smile.

It was… satisfactory. Perhaps not so memorable.

When she woke up the next morning she glanced over at him and smiled. He was still sleeping soundly next to her, and something inside of her swelled at the thought of him staying instead of leaving in the middle of the night. He smiled slightly in his sleep, and she prided herself very suddenly in the fact that it was _her _that he had slept with, _not _Kendall Glenn, Barbie Slut Princess.

She stood quietly and stretched before making her way to her shower, where she washed up and cleaned herself, thinking to herself about how things were so great, lately. It was as if nothing could possibly go wrong.

When she was finished and dressed, she went to wake up Yuki who grinned sleepily at her.

"I'm done, so you can go take a shower now, if you want," she said sweetly. He thanked her and she offered him breakfast. Then she went to go and fix something up. She dug through her cupboards, and eventually found some pancake mix. She quickly set to mixing it together when she heard the shower start up in the next room. She set a pan on the stove, and then, as an afterthought, went to the cupboard and pulled out a small pill bottle, popping two and then putting it back. She pushed it behind a coffee-canister, her gaze darkening.

That wasn't something she really wanted Yuki knowing about. At least, not yet.

He left after breakfast and pleasant conversation, saying that he had some work he needed to finish up before Monday and he wanted to get it done fast. Brianna smiled and watched him get into his car and drive out onto the street and then away. Even while he was gone she thought eagerly of him, of the night they had shared, and the conversation they enjoyed.

But her thoughts of him vanished when she switched on the television.

The Joker. That was the first thing she noticed—he had taken hostages in some restaurant. Her eyes narrowed as she maneuvered her way into her kitchen to clean up.

"Late last night the renowned _Joker _showed up at Pepe' Lubaure's restaurant and took _fifteen _people hostage." Jenny, the older blond woman said, standing in front of the previously mentioned place of business that has been blown to pieces. People stood around it, working on collecting the pieces and remains of the necessary things. "He reported that the _Batman _needed to reveal his identity, or he'd kill one person every five minuet's."

She developed a sad look on her face that was undeniably fake. Brianna had a feeling that other people watching at the moment wouldn't really notice.

"Sadly, eight people died before the Batman came to the rescue, but we have reason to believe that Joker killed some people early and didn't live up to his promise."

"Of course he didn't!" Brianna yelped at her television, rolling her eyes and scrubbing the pan in her hands vigorously without looking at it. "He's the Joker for fuck's sake!"

"Four more people died in the explosion that destroyed the restaurant." Already the name of the place of dining was forgotten. "Only one person survived; a young woman by the name of Kendall Glenn."

Brianna jumped and gasped, before her eyes narrowed viciously. Her fist tightened around the pan in her hand and she pushed a little too hard. The plastic handle of her pan cracked and she cursed, tossing down the offended cooking utensil in annoyance and practically jumping over her counter, another remembrance of old hobbies forced upon her by her father. She had never really liked gymnastics, but her father had demanded it and expected her extreme skill in the ridiculous sport to earn her trophies. She managed to break her leg (though she could never remember how, exactly) and convince her dad that she didn't need to continue with her lessons.

She bolted across the living room and grabbed the remote, though it wasn't necessary as she stood right in front of the screen just to turn up the volume when she could have used the buttons on the television.

"Currently Ms. Glenn is in the hospital recovering—" here, they placed a picture of the blond bimbo on the screen, with her hair a mess and her face covered in bruises. "—but she has promised an interview right here, on GCN."

Brianna growled to herself and turned away, annoyance present on her face.

"Really?" She grumbled. Then she sighed and the emotion seemed to simply vanish without a trace. She ran a hand through her hair, but it was a hollow action. Instead, she blinked tiredly and pointed the remote over her shoulder, shutting off the T.V. and making her way into the kitchen to finish clearing away the mess she had made.

She picked up the frying pan and stared at the crack. If anyone had been there, they might've seen the small bit of uneasiness that flashed in her eyes before disappearing completely.

"I'll need to get a new one," she murmured to herself, tossing it into the trash can next to her refrigerator. She reminded herself that it takes a small while for her medicine to take effect, and she had skipped out on it the night before due to being… busy.

She couldn't stop thinking about it, however. Yuki was long gone from her thoughts; she could only think of how Kendall had gotten on the news.

"It should have been me," she growled, pacing her living room. She glared at the television, ran a hand through her hair and took a deep breath.

She _needed _to calm down. She didn't usually release all of her emotions like this, but something inside of her was just begging to be let out, to allow her to scream and kick and cry and throw a temper tantrum. Except that wasn't Brianna, that wasn't what she was like.

"It should have been, but it isn't," she told herself, annoyed. Then she sighed, "You need to move on, Brianna. Kendall is just a brainless Barbie Doll. This'll all blow over before you know it."

She felt her forehead momentarily, an old habit from when she used to pick at the scabs she made when popping pimples in her later years of high school. With a huff she worked her way to the bathroom and gathered some water from her sink, splashing it in her face. She looked up at her reflection, glaring at the girl she saw there with annoyance.

"You're better than her," she murmured, and her reflection copied her. She saw the hate in her eyes, and the small upward quirk of her lips. "She was stupid enough to get caught by the Joker—you know better than that." She sighed and her smile vanished. She couldn't just bring her mood up like this.

She studied her reflection carefully, eyes looking annoyed and angry. She had gotten a good amount of sleep the night before, but something itched.

It was as if sex was simply used to appeal to men. She had never really been inclined to have sex with anyone, and when she did it wasn't ever really 'satisfactory.' Of course, she knew that sex was supposed to be wonderful and amazing when with someone you love or something equally… _simple_ as that.

She had never really _loved _anyone, though. She wasn't one to have boyfriends in high school, or even collage. Sure, she had 'gone out' with people, saw them, but it had never been serious, and she had never considered them to be her significant other. Brianna had always wondered if there was something wrong with her ability to have compassion towards other people, messed up by her earlier years in life with her no-good father and dead mother.

She stared at herself, but didn't really have the energy to glare at her reflection, didn't really feel the hate that was required. Brianna relaxed, finally feeling in control as her medication kicked in. There was no need to be hateful, now.

With a small smile, she thought f Yuki; he had potential. She could grow to love him, she was sure. It would just take some work—and then sex with him wouldn't be nearly as… _un_-orgasmic.

She stood up straight and relaxed, rolling back her shoulders and giving a short puff of air.

There wasn't anything she had to get done for the weekend. With a short, unconvincing smile, she flips the television back on and skipped over the news before her anger came back to find some movie to watch.

* * *

Kendall was back in one measly week.

Things had been going smoothly between Brianna and Yuki, and she couldn't help her smugness to think that she had hooked Yuki before Kendall and her super-boobs had the chance. She came into the office and everyone rushed to greet her, and Brianna rolled her eyes. She slammed her office door shut, tired of hearing them yelping and asking what had happened. The idiot blond leapt into the tale like some kind of grungy fisherman—she was no better than one, anyway.

If it wasn't already obvious, Brianna didn't give a fuck. Not even five minutes and she was forced to subject to the idiocy of the moron's return. Someone knocked on Brianna's door and she sighed.

"Come in!"

Yuki stepped inside, and smiled at her. Brianna looked up at him, in all of his adorableness, and forced a smile on her face. He was much like a lost puppy in ways, always giving her meek looks when he stepped into her office as if he were about to get scolded. Of course, she wished he would leave. She wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone at the moment—even if it _was _the lovely green-eyed man.

"Kendall has offered to take us all out—me and you, included—for drinks tonight, if you wanna go, that is."

'_You and I,'_ Brianna corrected mentally. _'Want to.'_ She gave him a smile, instead of mocking his inability to use proper grammar and pronunciation.

"Yeah, sure. I'd love to," _throw myself off of the Wayne Tower's,_ she mentally completed her sentence. "Just in time for Happy Hour, I'm assuming?" She asked, spinning in her chair to face her computer again and went back to the typing she had been pretending to do before hand.

"Uhm—what?"

Brianna rolled her eyes, making sure she couldn't see her face. Some people's moronic abilities were utterly astounding. She winced when she realized she had openly thought that about Yuki. She reminded herself that this was simply a bad time. She wasn't exactly happy about the amount of attention Kendall was getting—and not deserving.

"Right after work," she appeased, her voice dull in her unnecessary correction.

"Oh, yeah." He smiled and she knew he did without even having to look at him. He was always smiling. "I could drive you," he offered good heartedly. Brianna sighed and slowly turned to face him, standing as she did so. She was shorter than him, but only by a small bit.

"No," she said, as if it was a disappointment. She was dying for an excuse not to go. She could just get in her car and feign a phone-call from her grandmother, tell everyone she was sick. "How am I going to get my car afterwards?"

"I can just drive you back here. Come on, it isn't that far," he begged, smiling eagerly. She sighed and looked down. There was no way she was getting out of this, was she? Brianna glared at the floor. It wasn't like she had to stay the whole night, and she _could _just stick around Yuki the entire time. Maybe, when everyone else got drunk she could convince him to come home with her and spend the night, despite it being a Monday. She looked back up at him, her good-mood revived with the newly-formed plan.

"Alright," she hummed.

"Great! I'll come get you as soon as I'm finish up—you're always working later than me," he mumbled, blushing a small bit. She laughed.

"Yeah, but that's because I have to work harder to be just as good as you." Something about the comment made her feel slightly sick. Before he could give some half-assed rebuttal she began pushing him out of her office backwards. "Now get out! I have work to finish," she scolded teasingly.

When he was out she shut the door in his face, despite the fact that he looked like he wanted to say something else. He had a concerned look on his face, but she didn't care all that much. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair—she was exponentially stressed out over this whole Kendall thing.

"Perhaps I should visit Dr. Burton," she grumbled to herself, before she took a seat once more at her desk.

Still, she wasn't too thrilled to be going out to have drinks with everyone in her office—she didn't have many friends in her work, and wasn't really concerned about making any. She didn't wish to find it necessary to put up some sort of front everyday when she was trying to get her job done.

She glared at the page that she was forced to write. Her higher-ups wanted more that was anti-Batman, as was the big thing after he had gone rogue. Something big was happening, something was coming up and people were beginning to get frightened, as if awaiting a storm.

Brianna's lips quirked. If only the Joker would come along and steal her away, so _she _could miss a couple days of work.

She rolled her eyes again, this time at herself. It was considered insane—and masochistic—to wish horrible things upon one's self, and she didn't need to have medicine for depression, as well. That was just ridiculous.

* * *

_**A/U: Perhaps I foreshadow too much?**_

_**Hello. : ) I was so excited to get this second chapter out as soon as possible, I had planned on doing it at Midnight! Except I wanted to re-read it first. I hope that I'm not jumping into this too soon and getting all excited. I had originally planned on only one submission a week. Obviously, the plans have changed.**_

_auriellis - Thank you for the compliment. : ) I'm glad that you find it interesting, and based on what you said, I'm assuming that you have come back once again. What do you think of Brianna? I do hope that you find her interesting; I'm wondering what you think of her reactions towards things, if she seems like a decent civillian._

_Zeny/**Guest** - Thank you! : D I hope so, too. I don't worry so much for Joker stories-his character has made such a gigantic impact upon all fans, writters and non-writters alike. I fear for Jonathan stories, however. While he has appeared in each movie, I'm afraid he's been buried underneath the wonderful acting of our new super-villains. Do you think he still matched up to the new Rogue's? Also, have you seen the new movie? If so, what do you think of those villains?_

**_I appreciate the feed back. Also, thank you _**_SaxonBandwagon, StuntedDarkness, **and **TonightWeDieRomantic **for deciding this is one of their favorite fanfics, and **ariellis, SaxonBandwagon **again****, **StuntedDarkness **again, **The Mouse's Rose, **and **TonightWeDieRomantic **again, for following this, and whom I plan on seeing here again. Hello to all of you, specifcally.**_


	3. Opened

_**When the pie was opened the birds began to sing!**_

Brianna felt like she had spent the majority of her day with her head down, begging the clock to move as slow as possible. But, as it was when one was wishing for time to drag, it only seemed to speed by. She growled as she glared at the little numbers in the bottom right hand corner of the screen.

She knew that Yuki would be knocking on her door any minute now, and she wasn't particularly looking forward to going out to have drinks with Kendall, for Kendall. She wondered what had even got her to agree to this in the first place. It wasn't like she was eager to go home, but she would prefer to do that over going to some lousy bar to watch other people drink.

Brianna didn't drink—she had taken some sips of rather rank tasting beverages that made her throat hurt and sent shivers down her spine and promised herself to never ingest something so disgusting ever again. Since then, she hadn't really been the type to frequent bars.

She stared at the screen on her computer, watching the little line blink lazily at the end of her _finally _finished column. It hadn't been so hard to write, but it took way to too long to do. She had been dragging her feet purposefully through the whole thing, trying to make the day as long as possible.

She winced when she heard the quiet knocking on her door, then sighed. It was time for her to face her worse fears. Kendall and her too-short skirts. How frightening.

"Come in!" She kind of wished she didn't have to yell that every single time she wanted him to enter. He opened the door and smiled at her, and she smiled back. She grabbed her coat as he went on, asking if she had talked to Kendall at all during the day. With her back to him she scowled. "Sadly, no. I was too busy. What a shame that she had been—" She stopped abruptly, forcing herself to keep the words that threatened to break through her lips at bay. '_Given back,'_ was what she wanted to say. She shook her head, turning to smile bleakly at Yuki. "Kidnapped like that. Well, let's go."

She bustled past him before he could say anything else, a grimace appearing on her face as she passed him. She could feel that horrible feeling bubbling up again—that anger, that jealousy that she knew most of the world's regular citizens didn't feel. That resentment that made her want to send her car plummeting off that bridge she had to cross on her way home.

It was a wonder that Gotham's death rate wasn't highest because of suicide.

She heard Yuki following her, and before long he was in stride with her as they walked out of the building.

"Are you excited? For tonight, I mean." Brianna looked over at him and resisted the urge to snap at him, tell him she knew exactly what he meant. She reminded herself that she needed to keep in check. It wasn't Yuki's fault that Kendall was getting so much undeserved attention.

Her mood soured even more as she realized that there was no way for her to get out of this evening at this point. She would be forced to sit in a dim room for the remainder of the night while everyone else laughed obnoxiously over loud music and scrambled over each other like rats so they could introduce each other, have a few fake laughs, then skitter away to the bathroom where they would fuck.

"Of course!" She tittered, and it was a rather fake laugh but he looked relieved. She had previously decided that she would at least _try _and have a good time, for Yuki. They walked approximately five steps before Brianna realized she had to continue talking if the conversation was going to go on. "You're excited, too, aren't you." It wasn't a question, but he took it as one.

"Yeah!" He yelped, tripping over his impossibly small feet. She vaguely wondered how he managed to do something so easily avoided. He flushed bright red and gave her what she imagined was an endearing smile, but she was too distracted by what she could have sworn was the sound of a gunshot. He stumbled after her for a moment, like a small dog, before catching back up in time for her to push out the door. "Of course I am—er," he paused, realizing that was exactly what she had said before continuing. "I'm happy that Kendall is back, unharmed, no-less!"

The image of Kendall, laying on a gurney with bruises and a split lip passed through Brianna's mind and she squinted her eyes against the wind, just as she reached Yuki's car. It had been the grainy picture posted on the news behind Polly Pocket the news-caster's head. She looked over at him, faking a grin.

"I agree whole-heartedly," she said, nodding. She paused and watched him, expectantly, while he stood there. Was he going to unlock the door or not? He seemed to understand what she was waiting for and quickly pressed the button on his key-fob, making the small vehicle click and bleat into the dark parking lot.

It could only have been five o' clock; leave it to Gotham to make it look like Midnight by then. With it getting closer to winter by every foggy breath and the smog that constantly covered the city it was dark in no time.

She climbed inside, annoyed that it was still cold, and what was worse, the air was stale and smelled of fast-food. She gagged as he walked around the back of the car, choking on the disgusting concoction and sputtering, trying to keep her bearings. She had ridden in his car before, yet she was unpleasantly surprised this time by her reaction. Her eyes widened and bulged as she coughed once more.

She took a deep breath through her still open car door and held it, closing it just as Yuki got into his side. He smiled at her as he started the car, and she felt a small nervous prickling on the back of her neck.

"How terrifying, to think that the Joker got someone that we know," Yuki mused as he pulled out of the parking lot. They were the second to last ones there. Brianna frowned as she eyed the other vehicle still there, across the lot from her own beaten car—she was always the last one out of the office.

"Yeah," she agreed, distractedly, checking the time on the radio. "It's miraculous that she even got out alive." 5:28 blinked at her in the darkness. Everyone else would have been out of there at least a half an hour ago.

"It's like, you always think; 'No, it'll never happen to me,' and then it does!" Brianna glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, raising an eyebrow. He was talking like it had happened to him, personally. "I'm so happy she's safe, though." Brianna watched the door to the lot intently. It didn't open before they pulled through the entrance where Yuki shoved his parking card into the slot and the gate rose, and then they were shoved right into the lovely indigestion of Gotham.

"Me, too." There was no feeling behind her words. She smiled at him, struggling to find a way to change the subject. "All thanks to the Batman." She added swiftly, slyly trying to slip into the always deep debates about the bat himself.

Yuki glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"You think so?" It was an odd comment, especially for Yuki. Brianna frowned and looked out the window. He was usually so talkative.

"Of course I do. I mean, he was the one who saved her." Her eyes grew dark. "Joker is a real monster, thinking he can get away with shi-" she stopped herself from swearing in front of him. "-Stuff," she corrected, "like that."

"They say he's just really ill." Yuki frowned, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "I think he might be misunderstood. I mean, he let Kendall live, didn't he?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and she glared at the blaring lights of the city.

Even if there were no clouds, there was no way anyone would ever be able to see the stars here, so it was pointless to try and stare at the sky even on a clear night. Brianna glared upwards at it, anyway. Or maybe she was trying to find some kind of hint of Batman, scaling a skyscraper high above their heads.

"That Joker—he's scum." She turned on Yuki, looking at him with eyes so incredibly intense it made him jerk slightly, almost rear-ending the person in front of him. The person to his left honked loudly, but Brianna barely noticed. He watched her with wide eyes. "I don't care if he's 'ill,'" she spat, clenching her fist.

Brianna could feel something inside of her that was completely out of place. She wasn't _simply_ furious at Joker's cruel acts. Her lips twitched, but her eyes remained on Yuki's. He felt pinned in place, unable to move. Traffic was flowing just slightly and the person behind them honked in frustration but neither of them seemed to take any heed.

"Actually, I doubt that he even is," she laughed without humor, her head tilting back but her eyes never letting up. The light from the dashboard cast an eerie shadow across her eyes, that blue gaze that seemed to glow in the darkness. "He's just some ass-hole acting out publicity stunts." Her promise of not swearing in front of him was long forgotten.

She turned away, finally, and glared out of her window, instead. Yuki frowned, hearing the yells of the people behind him out his window and stepped on the gas, reluctantly turning from watching the brunette riding shotgun. He frowned, realizing that he had just ruined her good-mood.

Yuki drove the rest of the way in silence while Brianna brooded at the dank city.

They arrived at the bar, a large place called 'Tipsy Tanner's,' that of which Brianna noticed. The 'p' was flickering while the 's' was completely gone, only the outline from previous paint-jobs remained. She got out, but had enough restraint to wait for Yuki to catch up with her before begrudgingly going inside to get the damn thing over with. While standing outside the music simply made her skin itch, but upon entering the establishment it rattled her to the very core.

Heavy rock tones blasted through the many, many speakers. There were way too many people packed into the room, enough that Brianna was sure it was a fire-hazard. Skin brushed against skin, and she pressed herself close to Yuki (as if she had a choice) in an attempt to keep away from everyone else. She realized it was a lost cause in the same moment someone's hand slid over her butt, making her jolt forwards and send a chilling glare over her shoulder, directed at anyone that might've even _brushed against_ the offender.

They pushed through the crowd until they finally got to the bar, and Brianna caught a glance at a couple of her co-workers, recognizing a few of them. Apparently, they had formed a small crowd around the corner where the booth's that must have wrapped around the side of the building and the bar met, all holding drinks and laughing.

Yuki grinned and gestured, even though Brianna had already seen them, and she grasped his hand, allowing him to lead them through the crowd.

Brianna's eyes narrowed as she caught sight of Kendall, right in the middle of all of them, sitting in the booth. She suddenly could only regard the rest of her co-workers with disgust—they were vultures, all trying desperately to be friends with her and be remembered 'as the little people!' they joked. 'When you make it big!' She basked in the glory of her new-found fan-club and Brianna struggled not to gag.

She forced herself to stay, however, mingling with the people she worked with that were drunk enough not to realize she didn't wish to have any conversation with them. They laughed too loud and touched her shoulders, her arms. A certain pompous ass-wipe even made a pass at her, holding a fruity drink and not-surprisingly talking the loudest of them all.

She, instead, tugged on Yuki's sleeve. He was quick to please, turning to look at her. She gestured him to lean down, and he did, but only slightly. He wasn't much taller than she was.

"I'm going to the bathroom," she shouted in his ear, simply to be heard. He nodded and grinned at her to tell her he heard what she said and she offered him a tight smile in return, before spinning around and made quick work of getting lost in the crowd.

She likened the throng to a sea. They pushed and pulled, touching and rubbing and never giving enough space to breath. It was like Brianna was drowning in the rocking motions of drunks, and if she was as wasted as they, she was sure she would be getting 'sea-sick.'

She shoved through a final spread of morons on the way to getting themselves kicked out to find the ladies restroom, filled to the brim with people, not all of them women. She sighed in annoyance and decided that she didn't really need to relieve herself, anyway. Brianna had simply been looking for an excuse to get away from the fame-vultures.

After a little bit more of adventuring through the obnoxious crowd she found herself at what she imagined was the back door. She certainly hadn't entered this way, at least. She pushed the heavy thing open and was immediately met with a cool gust of smelly, fall air, courtesy of the back-alley's of Gotham.

She stepped out, meeting the eyes of several people who had come out this way to lean against the brick-walls and smoke. The only difference between her and them is that every single other person appeared to have a companion, every woman a burly man at her-side—or another burly woman. Every man a friend, one at the least.

She held her head high as they all stared at her for several seconds, even though their conversation didn't cease. The door swung shut behind her. Someone not so far away, but completely out of sight, screamed. Everyone averted their eyes, but not a single person flinched. As was the life of a Gothamite.

To busy herself, Brianna moved away from the door and slid her phone out of her jacket pocket. She flicked through it, pretending to text someone while she allowed the cold to seep into her clothes. Someone coughed, but no one looked up in concern.

Brianna reviewed, once more, how she had no one to text. No one to call, even. Her grandmother would be settled in by now, but she wasn't exactly keen on giving her a call no matter the time of day.

The door swung open again, and several people looked up. Brianna hesitated, pretending to appear as if she was finishing a text and then snapped her phone shut. She looked up in time to see the door snapping closed once more, and a sharply dressed man walking away from her, carrying a brief-case.

Everyone else looked down, but she continued to watch him. She could have sworn that she had seen him before. His eerily long-limbs and brisk gait made her frown, her eyebrows knit together. He disappeared into the shadows before she could recall any memories of the likes of him.

She sighed to herself, watching dully as her breath dissipated into a mist before her eyes.

"Ya know 'im?"

Brianna froze and blinked, taking a second to realize the blond hooker had been talking to her. She looked at the woman blankly, and she stared back, taking a drag from her cigarette.

"Excuse me?" Brianna asked, raising an eyebrow. Something about this girl made her… angry. She was dirty and undoubtedly filled to the brim with sexually transmitted diseases. The thought of her even thinking about talking to Brianna made her feel woozy. Yet, she somehow managed to keep the bitterness out of her tone, despite how sharp it sounded.

"He jus' stared at you, s'all," she shrugged. "Thought 'ee knew ya."

Brianna pursed her lips, her other eyebrow coming up to join the first. She didn't respond, instead turning away from her and walking inside without another thought towards the blond hooker. She had noticed several unpleasant similarities between her and Kendall that gave her the urge to spit on the poor disease ridden rat.

Brianna realized that the man must have recognized her as well, but from where? It seemed painfully obvious to her, like information that wasn't old, just stale. It was on the tip of her tongue…

She pushed her way back through the crowd, musing heavily, painfully curious. She managed to maneuver her way back to where her co-workers were before hand, and still were, sitting and standing and some dancing drunkenly. She watched them with heavy eyes, ready to tell Yuki that she wanted him to take her back to her car.

She was stopped short, however, by the image of the beautiful Japanese-American man with a certain blond bimbo strewn across his lap.

Brianna froze, feeling her heart stop in her chest. She took in the scene carefully, memorizing every detail despite the fact that she desperately wished she could just tear away. There was Yuki, sitting in the booth; Kendall, grinning with her face hovering over his shoulder, her painted lips to his ear, murmuring something undoubtedly sexual. Her greedy fingers touched his chest and his thigh, her painted claws pinning him to the spot. Her breasts pressed against his side, her ankle hooked with his. The pleasant smile on his face…

Brianna whipped around, but she had no need to shove her way through the people this time. They seemingly parted for her. That is, Hell hath no fury, nor aura, as a woman scorned. Brianna more-so stalked, her blue eyes glowing with outrage. Some stared at her as she passed, but she didn't even register their existence.

She didn't stop when she reached the door, either. She shoved it open—the front entrance this time, she vaguely realized—slamming the heavy doors right into some idiots face who cried out and fell backwards onto the cement.

Brianna never hesitated, her only need to get as far away as quickly as possible. She moved down the streets, not noticing the passing cars or the bright lights. She could only see Kendall wrapped around _her _boyfriend. Her fists clenched into her palms and she felt her ragged nails digging into her palms. She wondered how Kendall even managed to type with her pointy talons.

It didn't take as much time to walk back to the parking garage as it did to drive to the bar. She wasn't sure if it was because she wasn't paying attention or if it was the horrible traffics fault. Either way, she didn't care. In blind rage she slid underneath the electronic, black and faded-yellow striped fence.

She was half-way across the garage, ignoring the smells of rotting garbage when she felt a strange prickling on the back of her neck, and she recognized it from not too much earlier that evening. Her stride slowed and she listened to the echo of her footsteps, only peering out of the corner of her eye to see that the other vehicle she had seen earlier—it was still there.

She tensed, her muscles growing taut but she forced herself to keep her pace steady. The things around her suddenly seemed in extreme focus compared to her blind anger only moments before. For only a moment she held her breath, but the sound of breathing continued.

She would have tried to convince herself that it was just her pant-legs brushing against each other, or the breeze going through the garage, or the traffic outside if she wasn't currently in Gotham.

Brianna reached into her coat pocket as she neared her car, grabbing a hold of her keys, ready to jam them in the lock as soon as she was an arm's length away. Only a few more steps, she reassured herself, feeling her heart finally catching up to her panic and jumping to a start.

It hammered away in her chest, and she could hear the sound of it slamming through the veins in her ears. Her hands shook as she pulled her keys out, three steps away. Her strides seemed to be so long that it took hours to cross the small gap between each foot. Two steps, she heard the sound of another set of feet, and her throat constricted but she didn't dare look back. She knew that she had overestimated; the last step would be a leap. The world slowed down so much it was almost at a stand-still.

Then it jumped to life as she jerked forwards, slamming her hands forwards and shoving the key into the lock. Her hands shook as she struggled to turn it. Behind her, feet slammed against pavement, men were yelling things. She heard the click of a gun. She clenched her fist, struggled to turn to key, but it was jammed.

She shrieked indignantly as someone grabbed the back of her jacket and yanked her backwards until she felt herself free-falling. Her immediate instinct was to catch herself, to a backwards roll, and she was on her feet again, backing away but assessing her situation.

Four burly men stood in front of her, previously behind her until she had rolled between her feet. There was something wrong with them—they carried guns, like any mob man, and were dressed in varying degrees of winter-wear and combat boots. But they were wearing masks.

"Fuck," clown masks. _'Be careful what you wish for,' _she chided herself.

"That's ah, an awfully… _strong _word for a, uh, young woman such as yourself, sweet-cheeks-suh."

Brianna realized somewhere in the back of her mind that she should be completely and utterly terrified at the moment, that her palms should be sweating and she should turn and run for her life or try to get a gun and turn it on 'the boss;' that she should be screaming her head off or sobbing or on the floor in the fetal position. She should be hyperventilating or trying to figure out a way to call the police without any of these terrifying men noticing so that they could track her location and get a certain bat to come save her.

However, her palms were pleasantly dry.

She heard the click of his heels as he walked around her, studying her like she was a piece of art, and she caught her first ever in-person glimpse of the Clown Prince of Crime himself.

He was… terrifying.

His eyes were dark, and not just in the brown sort of way. They were surrounded by black paint—or maybe make-up—and his face was painted ghostly white. Greasy blond-green strips of hair fell in front of his haunting eyes as he tilted his head downwards to stare at her, as if was trying to look up through his eye-lashes like some kind of endearing girlfriend. Or like a bull about to charge.

But that wasn't the worst part. The absolute worst part was his cheeks, those ragged bumps that twisted upwards on his pale face, a direct line to his ears, but not quite touching them. His lips and those horrible scars were covered in red—red _something, _'something' because she wasn't sure if it was blood or paint or anything in-between. A horrific grin, scraped and painted across his cheeks, eerie and all-too familiar.

Judging by his flickering eyes, his tongue that darted out from between those painted lips and then slithered back inside his mouth to poke outwards at his scars like a worm—an infection—he had noticed her staring.

"Wanna know how I got these, ah, scars?" He purred, leering, leaning closer as he said so. Brianna suddenly felt colder beneath her jacket, her previously tense muscles suddenly relaxing. It was regime, almost like a hazing. She comforted herself in knowing that hundreds of people have probably already gone through this, there was nothing that would surprise this man any more. She had no chance of surviving tonight.

He noticed her relaxing, too. His hunched stance only seemed to shrink downwards further, coiling inwards like a snake before the strike.

The one thing that the Joker didn't notice, however, was that Brianna was pissed. Something about Kendall winning, finally fucking winning made her just want to tempt death himself, and who was closer to helping her achieve her undeniable demise than the Joker, who was standing before her by some miracle of faux pa's?

So her heart seemed to shutter to life in her chest, her blue gaze darkening. She stared straight at the Joker, and then a humorless smirk graced her lips. If she was going to die, then she would go out with a bigger fucking bang than Kendall's hardest fuck.

"No," she grumbled, shoving her hands in her pockets, more as an exception to the fact that attempting to defend herself at this point was useless than a defense against the outside world, that of which she already hated at this point. "Why even bother? You're only going to give me some _mad_ story about your past, one that doesn't exist. You know what, Mr. Bubbles?" She taunted, and the sane part of her knew she should just shut up right now, even if it meant looking stupid. The insane part of her, however, seemed to be in control at the moment. "You whine about how Batman hides behind his mask, but he's not the only one, is he? You're just like _every other _psycho asshole living in this goddamn hell-hole of a city; you hide behind your giggles and your publicity stunts because of your allegedly shitty life. What, your momma didn't _wuv_ you?" Brianna growled, a smirk growing on her face like a disease. She wondered if she had forgotten to take her medicine that morning. "Your daddy raped you?" No, she definitely remembered. "Well, let me tell you something, Bozo; that's the same story as every other whore standing on the corners of the Narrows." She had. Right? She couldn't recall for sure… "The only difference between _you _and _them _if that you snapped when the other kids laughed too long and too hard at your expense and you carved yourself up like a pumpkin 'Because there simply was no other way!'"

She paused, her eyes boring into his with a kind of knowledgeable look that no one should have; with the kind of fearlessness he had seen in… no-one. Even Batman had something to fear; his identity being discovered, for one. His secrets revealed, for two. He didn't know what she was thinking, what she was going to say next—

"The _wonderful _think about Gotham is that we're all exactly the same. 'We're all mad here.'" She paused again, staring at him, her mockery of a smile long gone. His hands were shaking—he was literally on his toes. "But the question isn't 'How mad,' Chuckles," She mused, almost as if she was talking to herself at this point. "It's; 'what kind of mad?'"

—and he _loved _it.

They stood in silence for several long moments, the Joker frozen to the spot, staring upwards at her through his greasy hair. The men behind him were undoubtedly staring at this fearless girl, wondering exactly when their boss was going to tell them to pull the trigger.

Then he giggled, insane; long gone.

"Change of, ah, plans, boys!" Joker cheered, grinning manically. He never took his eyes off of Brianna, who stared back without abandon. He spun around, practically skipping across the pavement and tearing a gun out of one of his men's hands, then spun back around and grinned at the brunette who simply gazed back, her eye's half-lidded as if she was bored.

Inside, it was a war-zone. She was berating herself for ultimately killing her, thinking dramatically about how she should have called her grandmother, after-all. And she also should have figured out what that man wanted and why she recognized him—she wasn't one to leave a mystery unsolved.

He neared Brianna, gun in hand, and she sensed the threat. In a late effort to preserve herself she flinched away. Her heart fluttered, but there wasn't enough time for her adrenaline to take full effect. She only had time to rip her hands from her pockets before the Joker slammed the butt of the gun against her forehead.

She yelped as her vision blinked black, then stars fluttered before her eyes. She went numb for a moment, but then she definitely felt herself contact hard with the pavement beneath her. She gasped as her shoulder blades protested, angry pain lacing up her spine, but was knocked numb when her skull cracked against the pavement.

She looked up, her gaze swimming, and found the Joker posed dementedly (femininely?) above her, staring downwards at her pathetic form.

"Now, now, don't fight your, uh, _pills_, doll-face," the Joker cackled. He crouched next to her head, cracking his neck grotesquely. "It'll only give you a headache-ah." He grinned at her for a millisecond, before once more pounding the back-end of the gun against her head, effectively plunging her into the black ice that was unconsciousness.

* * *

_**A/U: Perhaps I made the faux pa of not reading this before uploading it, but I can't be bothered. I read through it once already as soon as I finished writting it, anyway. I should probably let you know that Jonathan doesn't come around for a long while yet. :/**_

_Zeny - I really did love Jonathan; especially how he was on top of a tower of desk's. That really got me as soon as I noticed. I'm happy that they managed to get him into this movie as well. Of course, he could have done with more lines and a bit of a shave, but I imagine that they wanted to make him seem older. I don't dislike Bane as much as you do, I suppose. His voice really got me. I'm also really impressed that you noticed the nursery rhyme thing! So you do think they make sense, then?_

_SaxonBandWagon - Is this action-y enough for you? Not exactly the most descriptive battle of the century, but it'll do, I hope. What did you think of my interpretation of the Joker so far? I know people who write him often focus on his eyes or something, but I imagine any other citizen would be more concerned with his scars._

_auriellis - Thank you! I just wanted to contrast between any sexual encounter she may have with a certain Scarecrow (but shh! Don't tell anyone... .) and anyone else. Her psychological condition's will be explained soon, but I don't want to give away anything you don't already know. However, I will say, partaining to your feeling's on her selfishness that I want her to seem so viciously human your caught between hating her because she's human, and respecting her for the same reason. I did go and start reading one of your stories, and I do really like your writing style. I'm sorry to say that my dislike for Dr. Harleen tends to leak into my writing, but I'll explain that more eventually. I want to know what you think about the way that Joker speaks in this one, and Brianna's sassy way of not being afraid of the Joker, especially in her long speech._

**_I'm really loving the feedback! Thanks once again to _**_Homunculus7SIN, Hound of Tindalos, Jacklovesjake, **and **paintonmysmile **for thinking of this story as one of their favorites. Also, **Hound of Tindalos **again, **Jacklovesjake **again, **paintonmysmile **again, **Trillen17 **and **trudes193** who I hope will be reading this to see how thankful I am for putting this story on their alerts. Hello to these people,**** specifically.**_


	4. Dainty Dish

_**Oh, wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?**_

Brianna hadn't even opened her eyes when the pain hit her like a freight train.

She woke slowly, groaning as she opened her eyes a crack and then screwed them shut again when her retina was assaulted by light. She lay, resting her head against the cement beneath her and forced several calming breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth.

She turned, allowing herself to do a half push-up until she was on her elbows, and slowly she opened her eyes for the second attempt. Even facing the ground her eyes stung, but she forced herself to persevere. The floor here was shiny and greasy, and she could almost see her reflection in it. The vague outline of a dark figure glowered upwards at her. She glared back.

Finally, after what seemed like hours with her head pounding, her brain throbbing against her skull and struggling to breath normally she looked up, slowly clambering into a sitting position.

She was relatively brushed up on her old buildings, where they came from, why they were there. Plus she could see the basic sign's of what they were used for. This particular building must have been some old weaponry manufacturer for the Wayne enterprises. She had been thrown right in the middle of the floor of the abandon factory.

Brianna took another slow breath, and struggled to think about what had happened the night before. Slowly it came back to her—going to the bar, coming back to get her car. Why had she come back again? She couldn't quite recall… then the Joker. Oh, god, the Joker and his horrible scars. Her key jammed in her car door. Mouthing off. Why the hell had she mouthed off to the Joker? Why was she at the bar?

Suddenly, everything around her seemed completely unimportant. Kendall.

The images of the life-sized Barbie doll flooded her brain, along with every other detail, but they paled in comparison. She could see the way that she had wrapped herself around Yuki, her claws dug into his skin like some kind of crow claiming its dead flesh. Brianna realized she had been mistaken—those of her co-workers who had circled around her, attempting to feed off of her new fame were not the real vultures. The vulture was Kendall Glenn, with her big eyes and her painted, full lips and her clean blond hair. All of it simply made Brianna want to vomit.

Well, that, and the fact that her vision was slowly rocking back and forth.

She also remembered that the Joker had thought it a good idea to smack her in the head—with what, she couldn't quite remember. However, she knew that it could have possibly caused some real intense damage. She reached up, gently prodding her skull until she pressed a spot that made her yelp and hiss.

That was definitely it.

She grumbled to herself, regarding the bump that had formed on her temple. There was another spot on the back of her skull that throbbed, undoubtedly where she had fallen backwards and cracked her head against the pavement the night before.

At least, she hoped it was simply the night before. She looked up at the windows, high above all of the machinery. Sun-light filtered through, strained by many years of dust building up and vandals coming along to throw rocks and force cracks in the glass. As she slowly stood, her whole body aching from the horrible position she had been thrown into on the floor. She struggled to stretch her arms over her head without crying out in pain, arching her back and then dusting off her pants. She had worn black, skin-forming, low-riding jeans and she regretted that now. They were her favorite; and now there were rip's along her thighs, just above her knees.

Her coat was rumpled and she did her best to straighten it out. Looking downwards, she felt her nose scrunch up in annoyance, realizing that it was positively caked in dirt. She would have to pay for dry cleaning as soon as she returned home.

She dug in her pockets, displeased to find that her cell-phone was missing. She was sure that Joker had taken it so she couldn't call the police. But what was the point? She didn't see him anywhere—it wasn't like she could turn him in when she didn't even know where he was.

At that though, she looked around, but it was positive; there was no form of life to be seen, perhaps besides that awkwardly large rat that squeezed itself behind some sort of machine. She stared after it, surprised that it had managed to complete such a miraculous feat with its generous size. She grimaced, deciding she didn't want to stick around to see if it had any friends at the image of it bursting out from behind the previously mentioned machinery.

She shifted, turning slowly in place, gazing warily at the walls covered in paint and grease from inside and outside influences alike. She scowled in disgust at the idea of some grotesque junkie with pricks and bruises all the way up their arms shaking a can of spray-paint just to make their mark on the world.

"Art is dead," she murmured, glowering at the pathetic attempts for attention in the dark corners of Gotham.

Her eyes flickered upwards when suddenly, manic laughter drifted out from the corridor connected at the end of the long room. Her blue eyes suddenly seemed sharper as she contemplated her options. She couldn't see any other way out.

She took several steps forwards, taking her time. Her boots crunched against the broken pieces of—what was that, glass?—and gravel beneath her. She continued to force herself to breathe deeply, gazing around her curiously.

Strangely out of place in the factory, a full-length mirror lay up against one of the long machines, cracked and splintered. A large shard had fallen out and lay on the ground in front of it, revealing the black canvas behind the glass. Her steps slowed as she came near it, then she settled into a stand-still before it. Her reflection stared back at her, her eyes narrowed.

Her long brown hair was an absolute mess, hanging greasily in front of her face. She reached up long fingers to feel her forehead, disgusted at the oils that had been formed in her skin. She swept her hair away from her eye, but it simply fell back into place, making her sigh in annoyance.

"It seems," she murmured, looking up from herself and gazing at the door that could give her salvation or death, "that the only way out is through the lion's den."

"Ironic, isn't it?"

Brianna's head snapped back to stare at her reflection. A little smirk tugged at the corner of the girl's lips there, her icy blue eyes glittering with mirth. For a moment Brianna didn't realize that it was herself who had spoken, not anyone else. She gazed at the girl in the mirror, and her reflection stared back, a dark look on its face. She was curious; was that what she looked like? So angry and washed out?

"Human being's are rarely like lions," she murmured, staring at herself, watching her reflections lips move, her eyes glare out at her. "Killer's aren't often _born_ killing."

Brianna snorted and almost laughed, though if she had it would have simply been a mockery of the action. It was a stupid thing to say at a stupid time, even if it was to herself. It was to herself, wasn't it? She suddenly wasn't so sure, and her eyebrows furrowed.

But her reflection didn't look deterred.

"This one was," she said. She was talking about the Joker, right? But then why did she feel so… heavy, and sick? She rolled back her shoulders, stared at herself. Strange. It was almost like her reflection didn't even move.

Then, with a crippling mortification, she realized she hadn't had the chance to take her medicine. She turned away from the mirror, as if she had been burned merely looking at her shattered reflection and her steps were more frantic as she hobbled across the floor. It was vaguely penguin-like and unsteady.

When she reached the doors, she didn't hesitate. Instead she simply pushed into them. The thought of previously slamming the door in that unsuspecting man's face made her lips twitch in the slightest. However, she had a feeling that accidentally knocking out one of those slabs of talking meat wouldn't exactly be good for her physical health, much less be easy to do, even _if _she managed to use a door as a weapon.

"And that, _boys, _is why-"

On the other side of this door stood Joker and several of his masked men, burly and hairy and probably smelly, but Brianna couldn't register scent at the moment. Her brain was too fuzzy. The clown had been in the middle of a speech, but he stopped short when the door swung open and spun around, his eyes wide, head tilted back. That is, until he saw who it was the stood in the doorway.

Then, slowly, a grin grew over his painted lips and his head tilted downwards, hunching, all predator.

"Well if it isn't, ah, _sleeping beauty,_" he snickered as if he had just let loose a hilarious joke. "Tell me, ah, doll-face. How was-suh, your sleep?" He popped his 'p' obnoxiously, spittle spurting from his lips and falling rapidly out of sight towards the dirty ground.

"Just grand," she murmured dully. Her heart fluttered slightly in her chest, but there was no disappointment in the fact that she wasn't afraid. "Look, Chuckles, I'd love to stay and chat but I've got a cat waiting for me at home and he pisses on the sofa if I don't feed him at exactly two o' clock." She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, leaning on one leg.

He watched her the entire time, and as soon as she finished he let out a mighty laugh, making her heart thud slightly. She sniffed, trying to hide the way that her throat tightened up as he slithered towards her, grinning all the way. She couldn't keep her eyes off of his scars. They were just so… hideous. Especially when he kept licking at them like that.

He smelled hideous, she realized. It was a stench that made her toes curl, that of someone who refused to take care of themselves. His hair was even greasier than the night before, if that was even possible, and his eyes held an eccentric look.

She couldn't help the disgust that swam in her stomach, making her border on woozy. Not just from the smell, but forcing herself to tolerate the same vicinity as him. In comparison he was far, far below her. He was scum on the bottom of her boots, those of which needed a terribly good scrubbing as soon as she got out of here, she noted absently.

"Boys, woulja give me and-de… sugar-lips a moment-tah _alone_," he purred without ever dragging his gaze away from Brianna. She stared back just as intensely, annoyed that he undermined her. Did he think that she wasn't strong enough to fight him and _win? _This must have been some sort of sexist mind-set, something that made her nose scrunch up in immense distaste.

The men shrugged and laughed nervously to themselves, shuffling out a door on the other side of the room that Brianna hadn't noticed before. She vaguely recognized it as her means of escape, but now that the Joker's slabs of meat were in there she was sure there was no way she was going to be able to use that as an escape route.

Something in her brain buzzed when he slowly slid a knife, glinting and stained red from his coat. He noticed the second she did, and his grin only seemed to grow.

He lunged, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her close enough so he loomed over her, the point of his knife digging into her stomach. Brianna coughed at the smell of him, his stench burrowing into her nose. She wasn't sure she would ever be able to get it out, no matter _how many _bottles of perfume she snorted. She screwed her eyes shut, and she knew he simply assumed that she was fearful of the looming threat of being stabbed rather than suffocating on the smell of defecation.

A second sniff, and she opened her eyes, desperately trying to keep her nasal passages pinched even while he pinned her, right in the middle of the room. Her blue eyes watered, and he seemed to drink what appeared to be horror at her awful predicament.

"Are you sick?" He inquired, his voice ending unreasonably high in tone. His eyes smoldered into hers, but she stared back. As close as she was, she realized that his eyes were green. She had a feeling that he was going to continue, but she didn't want to listen to his voice more than she had to. Then she also realized that he didn't smell like shit—he smelled like _decay._

"Yes," she grumbled sarcastically, and his eyes glittered in what could only be excitement. He stepped forwards, forcing her to take a step back and in retaliation his knife dug further into her stomach where it was tucked underneath her coat. She winced as her diaphragm spasmed and she felt a small pinprick of pain. "I need to get my medicine—for my liver."

"You don't, ah, look like the drinking type-puh, bumblebee," he hissed, digging the sharp tip of his knife into her skin. Brianna gasped and struggled to bow away from him, but there was no relief. The pain shot across her skin like fire and she practically bared her teeth at him as she felt the blood pool from her miniscule wound and drip down her stomach. She recalled hearing somewhere that the smaller the wound was, the more it hurt.

"Who said it had anything to do with drinking?" She snapped, glaring at him as he shifted, scratching her skin and maybe not meaning to. He giggled, his eyes widening. He was utterly insane, and absolutely disgusting. The smell of hot iron reached her nose and she felt her throat tighten painfully, half-way through a healthy bout of gagging.

"Touché!" He tittered, and his eyes wavered momentarily. Her heart suddenly pounded an unsteady beat against her ribs and she took a deep breath (through her mouth.)

With the heel of her palm she thrust upwards, catching his nose. She didn't hear the snap so much as feel it give way underneath her skin, making her bones quiver in a way that made her want to vomit. He loosened his grip, letting out a shocked laugh and she pulled away from him, careful to avoid his knife as it wavered dangerously between them. One large hand had come up to press against his nose, that of which was bleeding profusely as he tilted his head back.

She skittered backwards, her boots scuffing the ground as she slid for a single second. The Joker stumbled as well, much heavier, and then he looked down at her. Blood dripped down his face, making his grin look all the more haunting. But he wasn't _smiling_, per say. His eyes were suddenly looking much more dangerous and Brianna steeled herself, her shoulders hunched as he squared himself in reaction to her attack.

"You're gunna, ah, pay for that!" He giggled, but there was no humor. He rushed her, and she was less prepared as he tackled her to the ground. They rolled past the doorway, back into the large machinery room and she gasped as he knocked the air out of her with his weight. She struggled to grasp on to any sort of reality as they tumbled until she lay, struggling to breath underneath him.

He had lost his knife somewhere, but she saw his gloved hand darting for the inside of his jacket. Her eyes widened, but her glare remained. She up heaved them both until she was straddling him.

"Uh, I don't put out on the first date-huh," he snipped, his 't' sharper than necessary. Brianna had different plans, however, reaching into his jacket and finding what she was looking for immediately. She pushing upwards, tearing the small blade from his jacket and ripping it until several purple strings shivered in the stale breeze left in the wake of her deft fingers.

She glared at him, her nose twitching once, then twice as she put enough pressure on the edge of the blade so he knew she had it beneath his neck. She was breathing heavily, winded, but he was hardly breathing at all.

She took a sickened breath, realizing she had become used to his smell. That probably meant that she smelled like him now, too. This thought made her glare even harder.

"Oh, you're _good,_" he chuckled, high pitched and annoying, but detached. The way he spoke was too elongated, it didn't make sense. It was like he couldn't wrap his mind around his words before he said them. "However," he mumbled, not smiling any more. She still got the vague sense that he was, by the way that his scars made him appear. "I'm… uh, _better._"

Brianna yelped as he reached up and fisted her hair, yanking her to the side. She slammed into the ground, and he grabbed her wrist—that of which was still gripping the knife—and squeezed until she winced and released it. It clattered to the ground, and he stood, kicking the knife away with a giggle.

He licked his lips—something that he did much too often, too often for Brianna to feel comfortable about—and laughed. He slammed a booted foot down on her stomach and she cried out in a breathless agony as she felt her stomach contract in on herself. She rolled over, gripping her middle, her eyes screwed shut as her body wreaked havoc inside, until she opened them.

She was laying right in front of that mirror from before. She felt the pinch of broken glass piercing the skin on her cheek, minor cuts that would heal almost immediately. Behind her she saw the Joker grinning, running a purple gloved hand through his greasy green hair, tossing back his head in an awkward, semi-feminine action. She gaped like a drowning fish, blinking away the tears of pain that fogged her vision.

Her reflection lay there, her eyes wide, staring back at her with an icy blue glare. But there was a wolfish grin on the girl's face. Her image was scattered across the surface of the mirror, and the effect was ultimately disturbing. It was strange, as if she was staring at it out of the corner of her eye and it wouldn't ultimately focus, but she was staring directly at it.

_All the world's a stage._

"What are you gunna do, now?" Her reflection's mouth formed the words, but she didn't make a sound.

Slowly, Brianna turned until she was on her stomach again and heaved herself up onto her elbows and knees. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders and around her face, blocking out the rest of the world for one, shallow moment.

It was as if every single sound had been outside of some jar, and she was on the inside. Then, all at once, the jar just disappeared and like a gust of wind from all sides, or an air-bubble popping in the middle of a bowl of water all the sound was sucked inward in a thunder-fast moment.

She could hear the Joker giggling, and she peered up out of the corner of her eye at him. Her fist clenched, and she felt that disgust and hate coming back again. He was just a wannabe, just a crazy idiot who wanted attention. What was worse—he was _getting it. _He was _getting _that _fucking _attention that he didn't _fucking _deserve. In that way, he was like Kendall.

Something black and demented inside of her twisted her stomach, and she tilted her head downwards, glowering at the shards of glass on the floor but keeping her attention directly on the man standing over her. There was a shard of glass right there. Was he so stupid, so dense?

_He _had kidnapped Kendall. It was the goddamn _Joker _who had stolen her away, and then let her go free.

Brianna's heart thudded in her chest. She could see him rearing back for a kick at her side, but she was not quite so idiotic as to allow him to break any of her ribs. She couldn't feel the smirk, but in her reflection in the shard of mirror she gripping in her right hand she saw it.

She swung just as he did. It was direct, exactly as she saw it. Her heart seemed to slam hard against her chest and then press itself there, as if it were trying to use osmosis to escape from her body. She twisted, pulling away, and with a wicked feeling the glass sliced across his leg. It hadn't been perfect—ideally, she would have lodged it in his leg, but it didn't quite work out that way. She would use her folly to her advantage.

The Joker stepped away, reverted and surprised. He didn't let up, though, as she stood and lunged, crying out in indignation as her arm came down. He grunted as she shoved the sliver of glass in his shoulder and then yanked it out again.

He stumbled back, his hand coming up to cover to wound. He stood still for a moment, and Brianna glared, watching him with an icy stare as she took a step back, poised to stab him again if she needed to. He brought his fingers away, stared at the blood there, and then slowly looked upwards at her as if disbelieving.

But he was grinning, giggling.

"Oh, I _like _you!" He cackled and lunged at her again, almost unexpectedly. Brianna yelped as he wrapped a hand around the fist that held the glass and squeezed until it cut into her skin. She cried out in pain, trying to tear way. She thrashed as he watched her struggle like a cat with a hand around its tail, his hot breath washing uncomfortably down on her. She growled, and drove her knee up into his stomach.

He released her finally and she dropped the glass, stepping backwards and gripping her wrist, staring down at her hand in a strange sort of numb fury as she stumbled until she tripped over something she hadn't seen. She didn't even let her gaze stray for a moment as she stared at her bloodied hand, watching the red seep in between her fingers and drip to the floor. There wasn't much damage, but it was enough to make her heart thud harder in her chest, thrashing against her rib-cage like a trapped bird.

She looked up, her eyes wide and dazed. Her head felt fuzzy all of the sudden.

The Joker stumbled, holding his stomach and coughing, laughing.

"Hoo, hoo," he gasped. His eyes turned to her and he grinned, baring dirty yellowed teeth. He wasn't one to have a plan—oh, goodness, _no. _He tittered at the thought, wincing at the pain that fluttered in his stomach. She had driven her bony knee rather hard into his diaphragm. He hadn't planned on keeping her around—actually, she was meant to thrash around for a little bit, to frighten and then toss to his… _employee's _as payment and entertainment. Suddenly, however, watching as her dazed expression suddenly turned back into the fury that was constantly flickering through her blue eyes, he wanted to keep her alive. She was simply;

Too.

Much.

_Fun._

She stood slowly, and he was surprised by her recovery rate. Still he gripped and leaned against the edge of a bit of machinery, intensely impressed by her will to not _simply_ 'stay alive,' like every other human being in this godforsaken city. There was something else driving her. Was it just him, or was that _disgust _in her eyes?

She was on him, shorter than him except for now as he lay semi-collapsed against the fire-power builder. With her bloodied hand she gripped his shirt and hauled up his collar until it almost touched his mouth. He leaned his head back to keep away from her hand that now smelled like iron of all kinds. She thrust her face close to his, her gaze slicing into his green eyes.

"Why did you _let_ _her live?_" She growled, her eyes narrowed.

"Um, I'm afraid I don't know who you're, ah, talk-ing a-bout-tuh," he snipped, running his tongue over his bottom lip, then poking his scars before his tongue disappeared, as if he suddenly realized what he was doing.

"Kendall Glenn," she hissed, and he knew that whoever that was, they disgusted her by the way her tongue seemed to twist while saying it. As if she had just eaten something horribly bitter, her nose scrunched. She looked into his eyes, trying to find recognition. "The blond idiot!" She snapped, and her gaze flickered upwards to look at his un-dyed roots. The Joker felt as if, even if _momentarily_, there was an insult aimed at him _somewhere_ in there. She jostled him, dragging his shirt closer but not doing much to move his actual body. "The one in the _restaurant_ where you killed _fourteen people _and let _one_ woman live. Her name was Kendall Glenn. She was on the news," Brianna growled. "_Why—her_?"

The Joker feigned realization.

"Oh; Doll-face?" He growled, his mouth twitching as if he were unsure what to do with it. "I thought she was, uh, _hawt-_tuh_._" He said like it was obvious and Brianna stared at him before finally relaxing her hand and taking a step back. He was lying. Slowly her cuts were healing, but the base of the Joker's neck and underneath his chin was smeared with drying blood.

Malibu Barbie's continued existence was a complete coincidence.

Something about that calmed Brianna's nerves just enough for her to keep the monsters away, if only for a little while longer.

* * *

_**A/U: Hiya. The whole 'cat pissing on my couch' bit makes me laugh just a little. That doesn't make sense, Brianna, you silly girl! Once more, Brianna expresses her intense hate of Kendall, and we reveal the ever confusing presence of Brianna's ultimate disgust, that of which **_**I _don't even fully understand._**

_auriellis - Brianna just keeps forgetting those meds! I appreciate your anticipation, and that you like my Joker. I'm very nervous about writting him, especially in this chapter because Brianna tends to fight him back, and not a lot of other people who write him tend to put anything like this in there. I know that Batman fight's him back (and in the movie the Joker is portrayed as completely sucking at doing any damage to the Bat what-so-ever) but that's hardly a reference, since the Joker see's them as having a relationship before they even meet. I used the Bat as a reference, anyway, guessing that if Brianna DID fight, the Joker would like her much more._

_Also, auriellis, what did you think of the short little mirror scenes? We're coming closer and closer to Brianna's psych condition's every chapter._

_SaxonBandWagon - Your praise just makes me so happy! You don't even understand - writting the Joker is a serious pain in my ass, especially here. You might even say this chapter is perfect for you, specifically. More action, more mouthing off, and more Joker, that of which is hopefully all well written. Maybe this chapter made you 'lol'? Brianna just simply doesn't have a cat!_

_Zeny - Thank you! Your praise is well appreciated. I'm curious as to what you've noticed; what do you think that this nursery rhyme-line means here, in relation to this chapter?_

**_More favorite-ers? What IS this? Thank you, thank you, thank you _**_crownedwolf**, **Live-Laugh-Play**, **mrs-krios**, ****and **XxMentallyInsaneCupcakexX **- you don't happen to have a Tumblr, do you, **'Cupcake**? Either way, I really love your name.**_

_**Also, SO much thanks to **blackonyxcage, BrontoBree, crownedwolf **again, **mrs-krios **again, **Musicaddict11, PhantomPrussia, XxMentallyInsaneCupcakexX **again. (!)**_


	5. Counting

_**The king was in his counting house, counting out his money.**_

Everything was eerily quiet.

Brianna stared at the foggy mirror in front of her, the blurred image of her reflection staring back at her. Her hair dripped water down her back, sending little rivulets to trace her cold skin. She shivered, wrapping the dingy towel around her a bit tighter.

The Joker had apparently decided she was to become a personal pet of his. It was a strange notion, but Brianna's brain only really registered the facts. She was too tired to have opinions.

After their little spat he had grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back the way they came, following the same rout as his team of muscles. Without looking at them—those four men, who sat at a small dining room table that looked almost hilariously out of place in the office of an ammunition factory, playing cards—he pulled her past them. Into a hallway, one way in which she assumed went to where she could evacuate the building judging by the blaring 'Exit' sign. The other way was the direction in which he dragged her.

He yanked her along by her long hair, muttering thing's she couldn't understand as she yelped and shrieked in annoyance and rage. She heard the men laughed, at least, until he dragged her further and further into the depths of the terrifyingly unfamiliar building.

Then, giggling like some kind of demented freak, he tossed her down a flight of stairs. She would have attacked him if he hadn't climbed down so quickly and picked her up again before she could recover from the agony that thundered through her ribs.

At the thought, Brianna dropped the towel, extra sensitive to the cold, and looked down at her side. Black and blue blotches dotted her skin. She was in a skin that wasn't even hers, pain that welled underneath her flesh and throbbed. She was surprised that she had no broken ribs, but she couldn't exactly be sure of that, either.

Sure, she had briefly gone to school to be a nurse. She would know how to check over herself, but it was as if there was something covering her eyes. Everything but herself seemed to be in focus. It was almost like she _didn't exist; _which was a terrifying notion, and utterly impossible. She _knew_ she did—it wasn't as if she could walk through walls, or other people didn't look at her or notice her. She was no ghost. If anything, those bruises reminded her of that.

That wasn't the point, however. It didn't even make sense to her, because she could see her bruised skin now. Then it danced out of view, as if she was looking at something else and unable to control where her sight went.

Perhaps she had brain-damage.

After the Joker had decided that pushing her down two flights of stairs was enough, he dragged her down another hall and then into a room that had a dingy, stained mattress on the floor. In a mockery of some kind of host or perhaps hostess—she couldn't get past how feminine he seemed sometimes—he presented her the room as if she was staying in some top-notch, five-star hotel.

Then he left, slamming the door shut and giggling—or maybe singing—as he locked it.

She hadn't gotten anything to eat after that. Somehow she knew that she wouldn't get any sort of food, and she prided herself in realizing that this was the truth. Instead, she moved around the room, digging through the old dust and piles of crumpled newspapers that had been thrown in there. She was sure that a hobo had decided to stay or something at some point. She grimaced upon realizing that the Joker probably found him there and killed him.

Brianna didn't find a corpse, however. Instead, she found a hole in the wall that led to a rats nest. She had been absolutely disgusted and used as much of the newspaper as possible to stuff in the crack, effectively keeping any rats from scurrying in while she wasn't paying attention.

Then she found a rock on the ground, just sharp enough to cut skin if she used it just right. It was a long shot from being any sort of weapon. Then, she settled herself down with her back to the door and stayed as silent as possible, to listen.

At first there was no noise. Not even the sound of a rat skittering behind the walls. She had thought that maybe the Joker had decided to just lock her up and leave her there to rot—but she had a feeling that wasn't his… _style. _Eventually, she heard the sounds of conversation. He had stationed two of the buff-cakes outside of her door to stand watch.

She was flattered that he thought she might be able to kick a door down if she tried hard enough.

"Whaddaya think da boss wants wit her?" One of them asked. Brianna winced at his horrible punctuation skills, even upon simply _remembering_ what he sounded like. The other one was silent for several long moments, as if thinking.

"Probably wants her for sex, er somethin'" he muttered.

"Nah, I dun think he's dat type oh guy," the first responded. He was too loud for his own good, Brianna thought.

"What do you mean?"

"I _mean _that I don't tink he goes fo, ya know—"

"Are you saying you think the Joker's gay?" The second laughed, but Brianna had a feeling that it was his thought, not his companions.

"No!" The first yelped, horrified. He probably should be. The Joker would kill him if he thought so. "Lemme finish! As I was sayin', I don tink he goes fo rape."

"Well what else is she good for?" He chuckled. Brianna felt her skin prickle in anger.

"Well, 'ave ya seen her 'round 'nywhere?" The first asked. "Like, do ya tink she's famous er whatevah?"

"If she is I don't recognize her." The second man seemed bored with the conversation already. Brianna realized it was because they weren't talking about sex any more.

They were silent for a little while longer, and Brianna found herself becoming drowsy. She forced herself awake, gently pinching herself with jagged finger-nails and sometimes jabbing her leg with the rock and concentrating on things like her breathing and the dust motes floating around the room.

"The boss said he'd be back around twelve, didn't he?" The second man said, and Brianna perked up a little.

"What time is it now?" The first man said, finally meeting a sentence that he couldn't completely destroy by simply speaking it.

"Ah, ten forty-five. We got an hour and fifteen minutes."

Brianna stiffened and slowly, a smile formed on her face. She stood, stretching her arms up over her head and made her way across the room silently to try and get her blood flowing. She knew she couldn't decide right then and there to knock and get a plan moving. She had to think through one, first. Pick it apart until she knew exactly what she was going to do every single second outside of the dingy room she was currently forced to rot inside, and not allow them to become suspicious of her listening in on their conversations.

She was surprised at the moment—she hadn't realized that she was sitting there for so long. Then again, she hadn't known what time it was when she woke up.

Brianna stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders, then bent over at the waist to touch her toes carefully, the stood and stretched out her legs. She straightened again and bent backwards until she placed her palms flat on the ground and could bring her feet up straight above her.

She fell back to her feet again swiftly, wincing. It had been a little while since she had used her 'impressive gymnastic skills.' She rolled her eyes upon remembering what her instructor had said to her father. Her dad, however, never seemed impressed with anything she did. Something about breaking her leg had made her feel satisfactory, not having to go to her stupid lessons long enough for her father to become obsessed with something else.

Now she was a tad bit happy that even after she had healed she decided to keep her abilities up to par.

Again, she bent backwards and lifted herself up to balance on her hands. Her arms shook, but she breathed deeply, then let it out slowly. She then dropped her legs, forming a sort of T, and continued backwards in a sort of back-walkover. A basic skill, but as long as she was fast and flexible, she would be able to stump the meat slabs.

She stretched her arms again, grumbling in frustration. With a sigh, she finally shed her coat and put it on the ground. She was wearing a simple tight, long-sleeved white t-shirt underneath. She was sweating and feeling grimy, noticing the stain's that littered her clothing. She sniffed, annoyed at her current appearance.

She paced, counting her steps and trying to keep her patience. She could still vaguely hear small bits of conversation floating in through the door, but she had a vague feeling that they didn't think she could hear them. She wanted so badly to just go and get it over with now, but she needed to be careful. She didn't want them to be suspicious of her and not allow her out of her room. She sighed and picked up her coat, sliding her arms through the sleeves and slowly buttoning it from the bottom up.

"Who would even want to kidnap some measly columnist, anyway?"

Brianna knocked sharply on the door. She was close enough that she could hear their conversation freeze, and she knew that they were talking about her. Her gaze was dark, her shoulder to the door. They didn't know what to do, at least, not yet.

'_You will help them. Then, they won't be so confused.'_

Brianna's head snapped up and her eyes flickered with disdain before her face hardened. Her hands shook and she could feel her palms starting to become clammy and cold while her neck heated up.

"Whaddayou want?" The second man yelped, and Brianna rolled her eyes. She could have sworn she heard someone snickered, but when her eyes flickered over to the other side of the room she saw a rat's tail disappearing underneath a pile of newspapers.

"I need to use the toilet!" She called back, and she had no need to hope that they were idiots, however. She already knew that they were. Besides, with the Joker out and about, she was sure that they would be more comfortable with escorting her to the nearest restroom. Actually, if she was lucky, the one that was furthest away. At that thought a smirk slowly formed on her lips.

"… Alright!" She heard a scuffle, someone hitting someone else. "What the hell was that for?" The second guy yelled.

"Ya hurd da boss. He said—"

"Who _cares _what he said?" The second guy growled, attempting to be quiet so Brianna didn't hear him. He failed significantly. "Be a _gentleman_, Harry. The lady needs to take a piss."

The door opened, and Brianna forced a nice smile on her face. Inside, she was disgusted by their outward appearances. They wore combat boots and heavy coats that hung open to reveal sweat-stained tank-tops. Their faces had previously been covered by clown masks, but those had been moved to the top of their heads, probably so they could see better. The one on the right was missing a front tooth and breathed obnoxiously through his mouth like some kind of obese bear. His nose was far too big for his face, and he had enough scars on his mug so that his facial hair grew in awkward patches. The guy on the left was shorter and thinner, but he had a demented look in his eye. Brianna knew immediately that this guy was probably some kind of rapist. She ran her thumb over the sharp rock currently stuffed in her pocket.

Brianna's fingers twitched and her eyes narrowed, but she kept the smile on her face. Inside, her stomach seemed to shrink inwards and her diaphragm seemed to thrust itself back against her spine. She felt her throat tighten.

'_They won't question themselves about where they belong anymore.'_

"Ay, sweetheart," the guy that she recognized as the second one said. This one was not Harry—that meant that the man on the right was, the one missing a tooth. The closer she looked at this second man she realized that his nose had been broken. She didn't bother to respond to his dated greeting, instead looked at him expectantly.

"The bathrooms are right this way," he said, undressing her and probably raping her with his eyes. He made her feel sick the way that he looked at her, simply because she was a woman. As if _he, _of _all people _had a right to look down on her! She forced herself to keep from glaring at him, however, and simply clenched her fists tightly in a way that they wouldn't notice.

The second man turned and began to lead her back the way she came such a short time ago with the Joker. Why had he chosen such idiotic henchmen? She wondered.

They trudged up the stairs that she had previously been thrown down, and in the hallway that either led deeper into the building or out towards her freedom, they guided her the way that made a small smirk twist on her lips. She glanced behind her at Harry, who looked more and more nervous as time went on. She hoped that she could get rid of that apprehension for him.

The bathroom was surprisingly decent looking. The thing about it, however, was that it had a shower inside that she was certainly not expecting it to have. She assumed it was for chemical emergencies, but she didn't understand why there would be some kind of dangerous chemical's getting on someone's body in an ammunition manufacturer.

She quickly got done with her business, because to be honest she really did have to use the bathroom, but once she was done she gently knocked on the door. They were quiet again, confused, but answered her call none-the-less.

"I'm going to take a shower!"

"I dun tin-"

"Shut-_up!_" The second man was horrible at being discreet. "You go ahead and do that, honey!" Brianna could hear their muffled whispering and rolled her eyes in annoyance, turning to the showers. There was even a dusty towel on the rail waiting for her.

Which was why she was where she was, now. The water had taken a little while to warm up, but eventually it was hot enough to cause some kind of collection of steam on the cold glass, that of which was slowly easing away. Brianna kicked the towel away from her feet, annoyed, and began to put her dirty clothes back on. Now that she was somewhat clean (even without being able to use shampoo) she realized just how sour and disgusting her clothes actually smelled. She could taste the bile in the back of her throat.

Still she had the water running, though, to buy her some time. Her shower had been cut incredibly short, basically just a rinse off and a hand run through her hair, but it was better than nothing.

The water was beginning to run cold, now, however. The steam was slowly melting off the glass, and she could see her reflection again, if only just.

"You should probably hurry up now, you know."

Brianna's fists' tightened around the edge of the sink, her eyes turning hard. She simply glared at her reflection, however, thinking deeply. Somehow it surprised her, though she knew she should have expected it. Still, she glared at the woman in the mirror; she wasn't even sure if it was her own image any more.

No, not by the way she stared back, smirking at her with indignation from the other side of the glass. She didn't respond to her on purpose and she knew that.

"Emma," she murmured, and the hungry glint in her eye seemed to grow. "I've been snuffed fortoo long."

The room seemed to rock back and forth slightly, and Brianna felt her stomach clench tightly. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sound of the soft, dangerous voice echoing off the walls. She couldn't quite understand the words, what they meant. In her mind she repeated the fact that _'she didn't exist.' _

"But I do, Bri," she sang, and it was eerie in the flickering light of the bathroom. Brianna's leg's felt heavy with grief and she leaned heavily on the counter, her lips pressing together. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest and her finger's shook, looking pale and almost grey. Like a corpse. "I do exist—and I've been shut in that emotionless husk of yours for _far_ too long."

The false sweetness in her voice was disgusting. Brianna could have sworn she saw a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, but she would never be able to be sure of what she saw any more. She recalled being like this once before, when it solved her problems. Now, it just made more than she needed.

"I don't blame you if you've forgotten."

They both stood up straight, and Brianna glared at her for her mocking actions. Emma. That was Emma.

She stepped away from the mirror, keeping her head down as she walked to the door. The sounds of the shower almost drowned out her voice, but she heard it, anyway. Emma's soft murmur, the sound that made her shiver in the cold that was slowly creeping in underneath her coat.

"Shut-_up,_" she growled, running a hand through her hair that was taking its sweet time to dry. Before Emma could respond again, she shoved the door open and bolted down the hall, to the right.

She heard them yelling behind her, and her heart was pounding, but it wasn't these slabs of meat that she was running from. Emma's grin lingered in her mind. Yes, she definitely had sharper teeth.

"_Bitch!" _The second man shrieked. Brianna didn't pause, pushing herself harder as her heart pounded in her chest. She had a strange thought—she was not often afraid of things, not lately. Not even the threat of being shoved down another set of stairs. Had this become a game? She didn't bother to think about it anymore.

She heard a thud, and only took one single second to glance behind her. The idiots hadn't both been able to fit in the width of the hall-way, and had attempted to do just that. Thus, they ended up falling flat on their faces. But, then again, why would they be bleeding so much if…

Behind them stood the Joker, who looked absolutely gleeful, holding a smoking gun. As soon as he saw that she was looking at him, he stomped over top of the freshly dead bodies and gave chase, cackling behind her madly.

'_Too bad.'_

At first, Brianna thought it was Emma.

She rounded the corner, her finger's shaking and her breath coming out in ragged puffs. It was colder in here than she had thought. Her heart pounded in her chest as she raced down the hallway—at the end of it she could see a door, that of which she hoped to god was opened. With the way the Joker was giggling behind her she couldn't be sure if he was herding her into a dead end or insanely furious about the prospect of her escape.

They were Brianna's thoughts, though. Almost separate from the rest, as if divided.

Behind her the Joker cackled, and she heard a gun-shot. He clearly missed—she didn't know if it was on purpose or not. Then again, if he was running and trying to shoot her rapidly moving legs to keep from killing her, he was clearly failing.

She reached the door, and she shoved it open. Even though her movements were frantic, her eyes felt heavy. She looked bored, almost. No fear.

She stood still for only a second, but it was long enough. Her eyes widened in surprise and pain as a bang rang out behind her in the same second. She gasped, crying out in pain as her shoulder exploded with fire. Her leg's shook and she fell forwards by the pressure drilling into her and she fell to the ground, gaping. He had shot her. He had just fucking shot her.

The Joker practically leaped from the doorway, a mess of giggles and he kicked her hard in the side. Brianna yelped as he grinded against old bruises with his booted foot. He danced around her for a moment, before crouching in front of her like a frog, hands on his knees. She glared up at him, furious that he had managed to shove her once more to the ground. It was _him _that belonged below her, not the other way around. Something about this man simply destroyed the order of things. Even so, it was _he _that did not belong.

"It's _so hard _to find, uh, good-help these days!" He giggled madly, standing up and kicking her in the chest. Her heart fluttered erratically and she whimpered, hating herself for letting out such a sound. Her rib-cage ached from breathing so hard, and she could feel the anger in her slowly welling upwards, almost clogging her throat with its thickness.

It tasted especially bitter. But her separate thoughts, those that did not belong, they seemed to be fading away. Her eyes flickered, her lashes dancing in front of her vision as she attempted to bat away the uncertainty that plagued her. Those thoughts had been her own.

That, in itself, was terrifying.

"You… are _sick,_" Brianna gasped, spitting out her heavy words. The Joker looked down at her, his eyes angry but so… excited with himself. He was undeniably gleeful.

"So I've, ah, heard," he purred, glowering down at her. But he didn't understand, and she didn't know how to make him understand. She didn't hate him for killing people. She was surprised as her thoughts bubbled upwards now. They weren't her separate thoughts. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if her 'normal' thinking, her 'sane' thinking was the separate thought.

No, she didn't hate him for killing people. She didn't care about them, not at all. It was an interesting thought, and she examined it with the care of a psychologist. She didn't care. She didn't care.

She smiled at him, a slow smile that Brianna felt but couldn't control. Her eyes narrowed, and the Joker, he watched as they seemingly glowered upwards at him through the darkness. The ice blue was shockingly cold, but not angry. No, not angry at all. Disregarding, and… oh, so disgusted. Not fearful. Unflinching. Unfeeling, in the rawest of senses, just as ice is.

He likened her to the '_good-doctor.'_

At that he giggled, and reared back to kick her again.

In that same second, someone behind him decided to punch him in the back of the head.

He knew immediately that it was the Batman, but obviously Brianna didn't because she looked quite a bit shocked when the tall, dark shadow of a creature stepped out into the hazy, buzzing light of the street lamps. That of which barely managed to filter through the darkness into the alley-way.

The Bat only regarded her for a moment, his eyes falling on her form, squirming on the ground. She didn't offer him a second, awe-filled glance. Instead, she slowly shifted so she was on her stomach. She could hear the sounds of their scuffle, of the Batman grunting every time he hit the Joker, and the Joker, he giggled all the same.

The Joker was finished before Brianna could stand. She sat there on her knees, wincing as her rib's screamed in disagreement towards her slow rise. She gasped as she felt a hand on her back, squeezed her eyes shut, but refusing to bend.

"The cops'll be here, soon," he grunted, his voice low and gravelly. Brianna had never tried to imagine what his voice was like. She kept trying to stand, and he was smart enough not to push on her bones as she rose, brushing off his hand. She didn't look at him as she stepped away, limping.

"I can make it home on my own," she growled, swiping a strand of hair out of her eyes. As much as she liked the prospect of the police driving her home so she didn't have to walk—she had no clue where she even was—she had specific reasons for refusing to get a ride with them. They would take her to the hospital, where she would be put in a bed, and eventually when she couldn't control herself any more…

The thought of the white straps wrapped around her wrists and ankles just didn't seem all that pleasing.

"I'll take you home." Well, at least he wasn't going to knock her out and leave her for the police to pick up, like the pathetic mess that was the Joker leaned up against the wall of his own building.

"Never expected the Bat to be so… chivalrous."

Brianna winced. She hadn't meant to say that. Had she? She couldn't remember…

"Come." And he strode out ahead of her. She watched his broad shoulders as he walked quickly across the garbage laden ground and she sighed. Brianna limped after him, and vaguely wondered if her leg was broken. Her eyes went upwards, however, and gazed at the smoggy sky before flickering over to take in the walls and then the streets.

She already knew what Gotham looked like. Didn't she? With effort, she forced her eyes to watch her feet hobble across the ground.

He walked to another alley-way, always watching for her over his shoulders, and when he got there she could see exactly why they were there. A certain tank-machine that she had seen several times on the news was hidden in the shadows.

"That's inconspicuous." Something about being near the Batman just made it too easy to be extremely sarcastic. He didn't look at her, instead opened it up and gestured with his head for her to get in. He waited patiently while she clambered to the best of her ability inside, gasping when she accidentally hit her knee and then freezing on the spot, cursing the tears that came to her eyes. He never offered to help her again, though, and she was thankful. She wouldn't have accepted his help, anyway.

He drove through back roads that she didn't recognize. It was a strange little drive, and she felt as if she should recall every second, but there were parts she was missing. They had no conversation. Finally, they came to a place she dearly recognized as the very edge of the Narrows, only a block away from her home.

The Bat opened up the vehicle, and she began to walk.

The next second it was as if she had gone one-hundred feet. She glanced behind her, to see that his vehicle was gone. She felt as if she should recall this. Then she was in her apartment. She looked around, confused. When had she gotten into her kitchen—no, bedroom? When had she walked into her bedroom? She didn't remember.

She hardly cared.

The only thing she cared about was that she was lying in bed—even though she had just been standing in the doorway.

* * *

_**A/U:**__**A seems a little late in the day for this. I want to hurry up and get outside-it's GORGEOUS here!**_

_Zeny - You, my friend, are way too good at figuring out what I'm alluding to. Better than me, even! I just know that it has something to do with the chapter, but my mind never really connects... _

_XxMentallyInsaneCupcakexX - No, just awhile ago one of my friends told me about how the thing on Tumblr is to put a capital and a lower case 'x' before and after the name that you've made, so I was just curious. Testing a theory, I suppose._

_Musicaddict11 - I do love the fact that you love that she fights back. It makes me so happy to see you-and everyone else-enjoying my spontanious little creation! :D_

_aurielles - Did you know that you always send me the longest reviews? I really value your input, too. :) I'm am sorry to say that Crane does not come very deep into the plot for a bit, yet. I know for sure that there are little pieces here and there where he pops up and establishes his place in the story, but I really wanted to focus on how Brianna is falling into her madness-and I didn't want Crane to have anything to do with that. I notice that when people write these kind of stories that their characters are always helped into the darkness by their 'love interest,' or they start out immediately being insane or demented, but I don't want either of those things. Plus, Crane is a bit more of a sub-plot than the real big plot._

_Firespin98 - Haha! Well, I did it! When I got this review I laughed so much. :)_

_ins0mniac - Do you really think so? Holy cats, thank you so much! :D I'm really beginning to pride myself in the way that Joker appears in this story. Here he is in this one-and I was going for the more easily beatable version. I was watching the Dark Knight with one of my friends, and she pointed out how bad of a fighter he is. He does his best work by staying away from the Batman, or creating a diversion so he can get away. _

**_Thank you_**_ forgetmenotflowers **for favoriting this story. **__Also,_**_ thank you to _**_Arseniclemonade**, **__Brontobree**, **__Firespin98**, **__ins0mniac**,** livilou**,** Raziri123**,** Richpauper**,** Snowkissa**,** **and **az1995**, and hello to them specifically for they have decided to follow my story. Hello! **_


	6. Bread and Honey

_**The queen was in the parlour eating bread and honey.**_

When Brianna woke, it was because of the pain.

She hadn't been dreaming—more of lost in a dark haze that made her mind simply accept what had happened the previous days, what was happening now. How she couldn't afford to miss another day of work because then, of course, she would probably be fired by that Neanderthal that called himself an editor.

Her thoughts were vicious, tearing apart everyone and everything she knew. She was better than them, after all.

But when she finally opened her eyes, she could hardly move. Everything ached and burned. She simply whimpered laying there—it was as if over-night, the Joker had come back to beat her with a lead pipe. She forced herself to endure, however, because there was one thing in particular weighing on her mind. She hadn't taken her medication in two days.

She heaved herself out of bed, crying out pathetically as her leg screamed in pain. She didn't think that she had any broken bones, but she probably had enough bruises to make her entire body blue and purple for several weeks. She gasped as her chest complained against such a simple thing as breathing, and she decided that she should check herself over before she even got her medication.

She shuffled into the bathroom, her feet dragging on the ground. She realized she kicked something, but when she looked down it was already disappearing behind the open door and she didn't feel the need to check whatever it was that rolled awkwardly around in circles like that. It was suspicious, but she didn't particularly care at the moment.

Slowly, carefully, Brianna began to remove her clothes, cursing all the way. She whimpered and gasped as she eased herself out of her favorite pants—those of which were torn, but not unusable. However, she doubted they would hold place as her favorite pants any more. She never really liked the whole ripped-jeans fashion. She had even slept in her pea-coat, and that she dropped on the ground.

Her shirt was probably the worst. While it hugged her skin, it was still stretchy, and her elbows got caught and wound in the fabric. The shirt was disgusting at this point, anyway, with sweat stains and dirt stains, and ruined, she realized, now that she noticed the blood soaking her right sleeve.

At the remembrance of her cuts, she looked down at her palm and cringed. The scabs were awkward and disgusting and with a wince, she realized, probably infected. She wouldn't need to go to the hospital, but peeling scabs was a habit she had long ago gotten rid of and didn't want to re-obtain.

She flicked on the faucet and shoved her hand under the water, reaching up to the cabinets to grab the bottle of disinfectant and the small plastic bag of cotton balls. As if on second thought, she grabbed a roll of gauze, as well. She set those on the side of the sink and went back to rubbing gently at her scabs, scrunching her nose in distaste at the way her muscles complained.

She continued rubbing, using small bits of bar-soap until she could remove the scabs. There was way too much scar tissue, and she felt bile rising in the back of her throat. This was why she couldn't be a nurse—handling even the little things made her want to vomit. But she had to drain the puss and other such fluids that might be trapped underneath, which she did quickly as soon as she was done peeling, turning her eyes away when she could afford to. She prodded her skin until she was sure that it was all gone.

With one hand, she attempted to soak a cotton ball with the alcohol. She spilled all over her floor, but she then decided she didn't care and set the bottle on the back of her toilet, instead, so she could grab the cotton ball and finish up. Which she did; struggling to wrap her hand with the bandages without hurting herself. She ended up straining her muscles, anyway.

The whole time, she kept herself from looking up into the mirror. She didn't want to see 'Emma' there, smirking out at her. Instead, she turned away and went to her kitchen to find her medication. Emma would be gone soon, anyway. It would only take a small while for her medication to begin to work, then she would be free of the useless girl that was everything Brianna hated.

She whipped open her cabinet and removed the coffee, but a frown formed on her face when she saw that the bottle was gone. She pushed through the other miscellaneous items she had shoved into her cabinets, but the small pill bottle was nowhere to be found.

She felt that strange sense of… _disgust _as she realized it wasn't where she had left it. Her fingers shook, but she forced a deep breath through her nose and out her mouth.

"Calm down," she murmured to herself, taking another slow, forced breath. "It's got to be somewhere." She began digging through everything she could lay her fingers on, pushing through the cabinets carefully. However, as she searched and searched she realized that she was not exactly just about to find it. She overturned pots that she left sitting to dry beside her sink, cups in her cupboards, not leaving an inch un-touched.

Then she was diving into her living room, overturning cushions with reckless abandon and breathing harshly as her heart rate steadily rose.

"No, no, no," she whimpered, running to her bathroom to dig through the cupboards there, slamming the door behind her in a desperate attempt to remove herself of the panic that clogged her throat.

"Look behind you."

Brianna let out a strangled gasp that sounded more like a gurgle, her eyes only momentarily ghosting over her mirror to find Emma staring at her, a smirk on her face and a dark look in her eyes. She froze, stiffened, her muscles screaming in pain and straining and she could feel the tears coming on as her hands shook, shuttering at the sound of the evil, _evil _girl's murmur.

She closed her eyes, but did as she was told. Slowly, slowly she turned around, her feet scraping on the ground and dragging herself. She didn't want to look—it was the very last thing she wanted to do, because now that she thought back to only moments before when she was sitting in her bathroom, curing herself of physical infection, she knew what she would see.

And she opened her eyes, blue turned misty grey with her tortured tears not yet released to drag down her cheeks, and there it was.

The pill bottle on the floor, cap long gone, nestled in the corner between the door and the wall.

Hollow.

Empty.

Brianna felt that feeling inside of her, that fury that she had too much of. It seemed that this was the only emotion she ever felt. She shuttered, but she didn't feel fear. She turned slowly, her eyes dark, but she wasn't smiling like Emma was. The demon-girl was grinning wolfishly; there was a wolf in her mirror.

Brianna gripped the sides of her sink, shivering in the anger that boiled her blood. She wasn't sure if she was hot or cold. Burning or freezing. Boiling or frozen.

"I simply put them where they belong, Brianna," Emma murmured, grinning. She tilted her head back and shrugged, but continued watching Brianna all the same. Her fingers tightened around the basin as Emma folded her arms across her chest, then shrugged slightly. "Sent 'em to the sewers."

"You…" Brianna took a shuttered breath. "You _bitch._" Her words felt measured, only just barely controlled. It was slipping—she wasn't going to have any control much longer. She knew this.

Emma's gaze darkened, though, and she glared at Brianna.

"_I'm _the bitch?" She laughed, then, and it was a humored laugh. She shook her head, smiling as if Brianna was simply a silly, small child that didn't know what was right or wrong. Her fingers were steadily turning whiter as she gripped the porcelain dish. "You're the one that locked me away. With those unnatural… _things._"

"It was _my choice!_" Brianna shrieked, finally releasing the sink and feeling her heart pounding out an unsteady beat against her chest. She howled in resentment, turning away from the mirror and running her hands over her face, through her hair, tearing viciously at her brunette roots. "Shit—_I'm _Brianna; it is _my _body! _My mind! _It has always been _mine!_" She whipped around, glaring at the girl in the mirror who simply smiled at her, almost with a pity filled expression. "_You _are simply a _fucking_ imaginary character that should be _long _forgotten."

"I'm a part of you, Brianna. I always have been!"

"_No _you're fucking _not!_" Brianna screamed, lunging at her mirror. She cried out in fury as she slammed her fist into the glass. It shattered, but didn't fall into the sink. Spider-web crack's littered the surface. It didn't hurt Emma, only served to scatter her image. "You are _made—up!_"

"Do I _look _made up to you?" Emma asked, then laughed, her eyes growing dark with a brutal mirth.

"_You're not fucking real!"_ Brianna yelled, then screamed an incomprehensible sound as she collapsed on the ground, tears of frustration falling down her cheeks. She gripped her hair, sobbing, screaming and thrashed against invisible restraints. _"You're not real!" _She gasped and writhed, clawing at her ears, struggling to block out Emma's words.

"You will never get rid of me, Brianna!" She called. Her words slid through the cracks of her shrieks, her shrill cries. "Not again. Not _ever _again."

"Shut-_up!_" She bawled, jerking against the cold, tiled floor as her tears poured down her cheeks. Her eyes stung, tightly closed. "I _hate _you!" Brianned gasped, kicking and pounding her fists, her anguish coming out in pitiful yowls. _"I hate you! I—hate—you!" _Her screams were throaty, guttural. Her pain came out in raw, fitful gurgles until she could not repeat her hate any longer.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she couldn't take it anymore. Her muscles made her whimper in pain, breathing raggedly as she lay still. She relaxed, suffering pained breaths, her throat sore from screaming and her eyes burning from crying.

She felt infected by Emma's dirt, by the Joker's disease, by the Bat's darkness. Her face was cold and sticky with tears, and she wiped at the salt that clung to her skin. She didn't want this; she didn't want to be here with this _scum _that didn't deserve life. Emma was part of that scum—the sickness that everyone on the forsaken planet possessed. There was no cure for this STD, this bought of mental herpes that everyone had. Everyone but Brianna, because she _injected_ herself by _rejecting_ herself a long time ago. She had created Emma to take the disease that she had, which made her the worst of all the infected. Emma felt fear, she felt excitement and happiness and Brianna never would have to suffer that again.

Besides, if one does not know what they are missing, then they are not missing anything at all.

Slowly she forced herself to stand. She refused to look at the mirror, to find Emma staring at her as if she was better than Brianna. She relished her eyes, her attention, but she would not acknowledge it. No, not from dirt like Emma.

Brianna made her way to the phone instead and picked up, dialing a number she had memorized long ago.

Her eyes flickered to the living room. When had she turned on the television? She didn't remember, but it was very obviously turned onto the news. The young news castor Jenny—or maybe that wasn't right. Brianna had always assumed her name was Jenny, but she wasn't sure. Maybe it was Nora. And why not? That was a very interesting name.

A secretary picked up on the second ring, and Brianna allowed her to go through her 'blah blah's before she spoke herself.

"I need to schedule an appointment with Dr. Burton."

Perhaps it was Selina?

"Alright, just give me a moment. I'll see when he's open."

No, that didn't seem right. Pamela?

"Brianna… what are you doing?"

It could very possibly be Barbara.

"Last night, the _Batman _was at it again."

Not that either. Harleen. She was an ugly woman, and Harleen was an ugly name. It fit.

Brianna ignored Emma as she flickered in the corner of her vision, standing in the way of the television that was spouting more none sense about the Batman and what he does for the city, through simple strings of anger and despair. Brianna looked up, stepping to the side so she could look around Emma to see the television. There were no images of the Bat, but something inside of her made her ponder.

The Batman… he did not show compassion. Not to the worst of the scum, not to those disease infested people that harmed others. He simply rescued those who did not understand what they were doing, the good that they were doing for the world. The purest of the human population. Those who _knew _that excitement and sadness were only weaknesses—weaknesses that only caused people to become distracted from the real goals that they should be accomplishing.

Batman was very much like those people; he understood.

Perhaps… he was not as infected as Brianna had previously thought he was.

"In one night he managed to find and incarcerate both the Joker and the Scarecrow, otherwise known as Dr. Jonathan Crane of-"

"Ah, let's see. We have… November 13th open, if you would like to come in then-"

"Yes, yes. Schedule it," Brianna interrupted hurriedly, struggling to ignore Emma as she realized exactly what was going on.

"You can't do this, Brianna!" She yelled, suddenly right next to her. "You can't get rid of me!" Brianna only gave her a glance before putting her finger in her ear to block out her whining. "You can try all you want but I won't leave! Not even for that doctor!"

"It's Dr. Burton, you twat," Brianna growled.

"Excuse me?" A bitter voice cut into her ear and Brianna's eyes widened.

"N-not you, ma'am!" She yelped, feeling her cheek's turning lightly pink. The secretary huffed and Brianna shot a glare to Emma who snickered.

"I didn't mean-" Brianna ignored whatever else Emma had to say, focusing her attention on finding a piece of paper and a pencil.

"Alright, November 13th at eleven a.m."

Brianna could almost taste the contempt in the secretary's voice. She rolled her eyes; the woman was just another polyp on humanity, that of which she didn't need to waste her time with any longer. Brianna sighed, said a quick 'thank you,' and wrote down her appointment time simultaneously as she hung up.

Then, she looked back at Emma.

Except she was nowhere to be found. Brianna frowned a tad bit, wondering where she could have snuck off to, before shaking her head in annoyance. She didn't care about Emma; she was scum.

She decided, instead, that it would be a good idea to get dressed, seeing as she was wandering around her apartment in only her dirty underwear from being kidnapped. She went to her bedroom to gather together something to wear.

She was already late to work, so she took a second to stop at the dry-cleaner's to drop off her coat. The woman smiled kindly at her, and Brianna smiled back even though she disgusted her. Who needed that kind of blatant happiness that didn't matter—that never mattered? It was disgusting.

At work, she was sure that she was going to get the tongue lashing of her life.

However, a she stepped inside, they were obviously preoccupied with something else.

There were cops littering the office, and at least two detectives. They were interrogating people, talking to everyone that worked there. As soon as Brianna walked in it caught several people's attention. Immediately a cop walked over, a young man with blond-brown hair that gave her a tight smile.

"Hello. We're here investigating the death of Mark Richards. If you would just come this way, please." Barely anyone looked up as Brianna was led past them, but she gazed at them, her eyes wide and her brows knitted in some form of confused curiosity. "Can I ask what your name is?"

Brianna looked up, slightly caught off guard when she realized that the cop was talking to her. She looked up at him, her eyes widening.

"Uh—Brianna. Brianna Clark," she replied, trying to give him a smile. It was fake, all the same, as she realized that her boss was dead. She wasn't sad, but completely shocked. What reason would anyone have to kill Mark Richards? Besides the fact that he was a total hard-ass and got off on bossing people around—the Neanderthal.

"My name's Jonathan Calvin. You can call me John, if you'd like."

"Officer John—"

"Just John, please." He gave her a coy smile and stopped, holding out his arm. Brianna realized that they had stopped in front of her office. She stepped inside and he followed, leaving the door open. She was especially used to sitting in her office chair, that of which she did, leaving him to take a seat in the extra chair she had in there for some reason or another.

"Just John, what is going on here?" She meant to mock him, but he smiled, as if she had made some kind of cute joke. Brianna almost gagged. This man was just another victim of The Disease.

"We believe that the Scarecrow murdered Mr. Richards, and it is necessary for us to talk to everyone that was close to him." He pulled out a notepad and pen, and Brianna realized he wasn't just a cop—he was also a detective. "I have some questions for you."

"Oh, well—shoot." She shrugged, settling back to relax.

"How well did you know Mr. Richards?"

"I knew him… well enough. He was my boss, and our relationship was strictly professional."

"What did you think of him?"

"He was ok," Brianna answered carefully, looking John straight in the eyes every time he looked up at her. She watched him write everything down with careful precision. "He got on my case sometimes, but I imagine we got along better than him and anyone else." Brianna rolled her eyes slightly when John looked down again. As if that was true—Mark Richards hated everyone equally, wife included.

"How well would you say you get along with the other people in your office?" He asked, looking up to watch her respond. Brianna was almost caught off guard.

"I don't really talk much with anyone else here, but when I do, we don't have arguments."

"Do you have a boyfriend, Ms. Clark?" He inquired. His serious face never faltered. Brianna was almost willing to challenge him, but thought better of it. He sat up straighter at her hesitation, however, as she thought for a moment. Did she have a boyfriend? She recalled what had gotten her into the mess that caused the still aching bruises all along her covered arms and torso.

"No. No, I don't." She knew that her words were too dark, but John must have seen something else. His lip's quirked upwards.

"I have one last question," he said, but he set his pen aside. Brianna raised an eyebrow, inquisitive. "Would you like to go on a date with me? Tomorrow night."

Brianna blinked, then opened her mouth to say 'no.'

* * *

_**A/U: I noticed that this story seems to be slowing down a little bit, based on how many viewers I have. :/ Which is honestly just too bad. I will be honest-Brianna's views on who and what have The Disease arn't even clear to me. IF YOU CANNOT MAKE SENSE OF IT, SAY SOMETHING in a review or otherwise. I will attempt to fix what I can, then.**_

_Mignun - Thank you! I take intense pride in my work and I'm happy you think so. :)_

_mrs-krios - No, it's ok. :) You don't have to be sorry. I honestly think your English is wonderful, from what I can see. Also, thank you very mcuh! And, here you go-another chapter. :)_

_SaxonBandWagon - :x I'm sorry. I didn't mean to confuse you. I guess I just got a little carried away..._

_Zeny - No, thank YOU! I know what you're talking about! I was completely expecting Not-Harry to come in on her while she was showering. D:_

_auriellis - Thank you, and I'm happy you did! It's ok. :) Hope your finger's are working again! :o_

**_Thank you to _**_SamiraGranger **and **hollerrr **for thinking of this as a favorite of theirs, and **archeoligista**, **MeganQuirk7**, **SamiraGranger **again****, ****and **TheSinnerArson **for following this. Maybe I should come up with a secret code for the followers... then again, anyone can read the followers list. **_

_**One last note-I have reached chapter 11, but it seems that I've come to a bit of a bump in the rode. No, we're not there yet, but we're coming up fast! To be honest, I've been trying very hard to write chapter 11 ever since I published chapter 4. :x It's not coming along easily. I can't guarentee that the schedual will continue as it has so far when we get there, so be prepared-this story may or may not end up on a **_HIATUS _**at that point.**_** :/**


	7. The Maid

_**The maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes.**_

Brianna found herself leaping off of an old, creaky fire-escape, rusted and broken, to jump down onto the ground below her. She landed on several limp bags of trash and straightened, gasping in confusion. She wasn't quite sure what to make of her predicament.

Confused, she spun around, looking upwards at the building that she had just exited. She realized, vaguely, that it was some old motel that she had seen once before—when she was with Batman. When they were driving through the Narrows to get to her home.

She blinked rapidly, feeling her heart quicken a small bit. She spun around, looking at the dark corners of the alley-way she had landed in, then around her at the glass on the ground, then the sky. It was the middle of the night—maybe even the morning.

The last thing she remembered was… was talking to that detective, John-something or another. It seemed important, though. His name… John… Calvin. His name was John Calvin. Brianna clung to that small bit of information as tightly as she could.

She looked around again, her mind feeling heavy and she squeezed her eyes shut. Then, snapping them open, she realized that she had to get home as quickly as possible. Sure, the Joker and the Scarecrow were probably in Arkham at the moment, the two most dangerous criminals in all of Gotham, but that just meant that the other criminals thought it was a safe time to play without getting caught up in some kind of stupid gang fight.

Brianna swiftly began to make her way through the alley-way, until she got to the street. That, of course, would be the obvious choice. Running through the alley-ways could always mean that she'd meet some kind of rapist or hit-n-runner. She didn't need to get mugged.

Hell, she didn't even know if she fucking had anything on her to get taken.

She reached into her pockets, curious, and her finger's brushed over a smooth, rectangular box. She blinked and pulled it from her pocket. It was her cell-phone. A frown formed on her face—she had lost that when she got knocked out by the Joker. It had some scratches on it, and the screen was a little cracked, but otherwise it looked like it was still functioning.

10:42 glowed upwards at her. Saturday, October 30th. She was missing more than two days worth of time; 58 hours of her life and she didn't remember a single second of it. Her eyes widened in slight panic, feeling her heart flutter in her chest. She had blacked-out for _58 hours. _

She slid her phone back into her pocket, and the felt a slight tugging around her neck. Looking down, she blinked in confusion.

Around her neck, she must have wrapped a blood-red scarf. It gathered there, folded randomly, so that it covered most of her neck and went over her coat. Behind her, the tail of the scarf fluttered in the wind. She didn't know what it meant, but she certainly knew what it was.

A message from Emma.

Brianna didn't know what the message was, exactly. What could the scum be possibly trying to say? She tugged gently on the scarf, but didn't remove it. Something about it appealed to her in the simplest of ways.

"I'm simply takin' care of you."

Brianna blinked. She hadn't realized that she had started walking already, but she must have started at some point. Beside her Emma was walking, too, her hands in her pockets and smiling at Brianna. Her blue eyes were filled with mirth without being truly happy, while Brianna glared harshly at the girl in return. It was windy and very, very cold. However, there was no snow yet.

Brianna breathed out, watching her breath turn to fog and get blown away viciously. Out here there was no one to hear her if she spoke, so she turned to regard Emma completely.

"I have always taken care of myself," Brianna hissed, annoyed. "I don't need some fucking caretaker."

"You just don't realize that you do," Emma said softly, but Brianna heard her, anyway. She smiled, her eyes squinting against the wind. She looked giddy, excited, but yet dreamy in some way. She appeared to be high, but naturally, off of something she had done not something she had smoked.

"Nor am I a moronic fool."

"I wasn't sayin' that."

"Then what the fuck were you _saying_, exactly?" Brianna spat, fully turning her head to glare at Emma. She shrugged, looking meek suddenly.

"I was sayin'; I simply do what you can't do for yourself." Emma looked up at the sky, the clouds rolling quickly across it. Brianna recalled thinking about how no one ever saw the sky in Gotham. There only ever seemed to be clouds—yet she did not mind. It was better that way, anyhow. The sun simply caused burns and cancer that was preferred to be non-existent by the majority of the population.

"There is nothing that I cannot accomplish on my own," Brianna spat, turning away from Emma to march onward, annoyed.

"Ok, that you _won't_ do, then," Emma replied, keeping up with Brianna much too easily. She supposed she did have the same stride as she did, and she was also a figment of her imagination. She didn't even bother to glare at her idiotic reflection of herself. She was a disgrace—a mistake. Emma should never have existed, and she of course would have caused Brianna to arrive here without even knowing when or how she had gotten to the Narrows! The thought was ridiculous and made her wince. She wished that she could just make Emma vanish for the rest of her life—no, forever.

Brianna decided not to respond, and when she looked after a lengthy silence, Emma was gone. Shivering, she shoved her hands into her pockets and hurried up. She recalled the rout she had taken when in Batman's vehicle, but it still took over an hour for her to find her way back to her apartments.

She hurried inside, happy to be somewhere familiar. She was shaking just slightly from the cold as she pushed open her door.

The thing about forgetting the previous two days was the fact that she had no idea what she had done. She didn't know what she had said to John—the last thing she remembered was when she was going to tell him 'no' about him asking her on a date. The thought made her crinkle her nose. Scum like him, trying to date someone as—as important to the world as she was? The thought made her want to laugh.

She wandered heavily into her bathroom, ready to take a shower and go to bed. Her body still ached, and as she removed her jacket and her shirt she caught her reflection in the mirror. It wasn't Emma—simply her. Her, and her bruises; slowly changing from yellow to purple and leaving a disgusting color all the way over her chest, stomach and side's.

She hissed in pain as she gently prodded them. They ached heavily and made her squeeze her eyes shut and jerk. Her muscles still hurt, but not as much as before. When she opened her eyes, Emma was sitting on her toilet, still wearing a jacket and the scarf. Brianna realized quickly that her ability to appear outside of the mirror just made her more potent and Brianna's lips were suddenly set in a straight line.

She didn't say anything, though, which made Brianna frown. She looked down at her hands to examine her scars, now, which were silver lines criss-crossing over her palms and the under-side of her fingers. She ran her left-hand over them several times when something caught her eye. Something that wasn't there before.

Her fingernails were dirty, which didn't often happen. She frowned and gently picked at them, noticing the same for her right hand. She used the fingernail on her other hand to scrap out whatever it was from underneath. This was strange—normally, she kept herself very neat and tidy.

Emma was watching her intently, gently tilting her head to the side, her eyes wide. But she was smiling, and it was an insane smile, a reckless smile.

Brianna came up with a red-brown residue and her frown deepened. That couldn't possibly be…

"Blood," Brianna murmured. She looked up at Emma, who simply grinned at her, her eyes darkening. "You—you…"

"Don't worry. I was, ah… _careful_." This was a different side of Emma, the side of Emma that made Brianna glare even more hatefully at her. Emma stood and took a step towards Brianna, who stood her ground.

"It's wrong, Emma. Killing is _wrong._"

"It's not like you weren't thinking about doing it-" Emma said easily as she strode across the small space.

"_I wasn't-!"_

"We are the _same person, _Brianna. You _were._"

* * *

Dr. Jonathan Crane would never get used to being on the opposite side of the bullet-proof Plexiglas. He hated the way that they drilled holes in the glass, as if he was some gerbil shoved inside of some kind of demented, white shoe-box with an uncomfortable cot to sleep on and a small wall that hid the toilet he used to do his business, but was otherwise endlessly watched by a special camera, just for him.

It was late, and he was lucky enough (or simply just that good at bribing or threatening the people who placed him) to have one of the very few rooms with the cell collocate to his own completely vacant and a cramped window up near the ceiling. It wasn't very nice—seeing as how it was also covered in Plexiglas that had been scratched so much by previous visitors that it was a miracle he could see out of it—but it allowed him to see the front gate through the fences and thus who was coming, and who was going. Whether it be the doctors that frequently drove through those gates, or the new residents of Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.

Of course, with his brilliant abilities of psychology and manipulation, he had managed to convince one of the guards to sneak him a certain file earlier that night.

The thought of the young woman that he knew the name of for seemingly no reason, his eyes narrowed slightly. Sitting in his cell gave him more than enough time to think, and as would be expected, his mind traveled back to the young woman eventually. He was not afraid to admit his hauteur in being able to exploit the young man who had just begun to patrol the hallways simply with some hushed colloque.

Thus, at exactly 10:42 post meridian the guard surreptitiously delivered him the file on Brianna Clark, also known as Emma Wolfe, a mancipium to her own body. She had been admitted to Arkham Asylum at age seventeen under very loose pretenses for something as small as arson, but she wasn't kept long. It came up in an appeal case that she had been falsely blamed, but for good reason. Apparently she had been in a bar at the time, and had aggravated another costumer enough that they attacked her with a candle.

Bemused, the good doctor had imagined a wolf being chased by a mob bearing pitch forks and torches.

Why it was a candle, he wasn't sure. Perhaps it was simply the closest thing to the person. Anyway, they must have thrown it at her from across the table and the tablecloth caught fire, followed by the rest of the building. She hadn't helped her case, of course, by finding the whole ordeal completely hilarious while she was in court. He was incredibly curious as to why she happened to be at a bar and seemingly unattended so young in the first place.

However, once she was admitted, the doctors found that she was insane, just not quite criminally so. Not yet, at least.

She was diagnosed with mild schizophrenia and mild multiple-personality disorder. However, both were easily treated—or, a better word used would be _suppressed_—by medication. Her father refused to put her through any sort of counseling, however.

A certain Scarecrow didn't feel any sort of ebullience towards this discovery, of course, as Miss Clark's file was rather slim. Her file continued: Once she escaped the care of her father she returned once again to be re-evaluated, as requested by a close friend of the family. She would not tell any doctor living or dead whom that might be, but Jonathan had a vague idea.

She revealed more of her multiple-personality disorder, that of which wasn't getting better. Her doctor at the time, and apparently presently as well—Dr. Burton—had written a short note describing how he felt it was getting slowly worse as time went on. Jonathan likened it to a festering sore. Brianna Clark, however, refused to be treated, and thus went back on her medication, said armamentarium coming straight from the Arkham Asylum store-room's itself.

Dr. Burton did get the pleasure of evaluating Miss Clark's psyche before she left, to determine whether or not she would have to take more medication to help herself suppress her mental disease. Thus she stayed at Arkham for one whole week, locked away with the less dangerous crazies. She wasn't allowed to take her medication for that week, in which she attacked one other patient on her off-time. The problem did not reoccur while she was on medication.

Dr. Burton ran some tests on each half of her personalities, and determined several very solid facts.

While Brianna was subject to feeling intense anger and resentment towards other people, she was very well controlled in herself. She showed slight sign's of narcissism, but Dr. Burton didn't find reason to study this any further. In very extreme cases she was able to report feeling actual happiness, but revealed that this didn't happen very often while in the Asylum. Brianna was also very disgusted with the way that Dr. Burton and most of the other people she encountered acted and reacted to certain situations, and refused to come in physical contact with others if she could help herself. Miss Clark was also quiet and relatively polite otherwise, unless she was very angry and thus tended to swear.

Jonathan raised his eyebrows at a small note claiming that 'Miss Clark is capable of feeling panic, but does not react in the same way a frightened person would.' At this, he eagerly continued reading.

Dr. Burton, as per request by Miss Clark, had separated the notes between Brianna and Emma. She had specified files, but Dr. Burton had gone ahead and kept the files the same under the pretense that he was still keeping separate files.

The notes on Emma Wolfe were not as clearly detailed. The only thing that was revealed was that she had violent tendencies, but did not act on anger. She shared the ability to feel happiness, and seemed to experience it more often than not. She showed very little sadness, yet however seemed to have a strong reaction towards fear, explaining that what she feared most was being 'locked away' again. She explained that she _was _Brianna, but 'not anymore.'

Jonathan was, for a lack of better term, giddy at the prospect of this strange anomaly. He knew that fear was something that drove every single person; it was the very core of all creation and all reaction. There was no such thing as a person who did not feel fear, whether they were only one half of a whole or not.

To say he was curious would be an understatement. He knew he has seen her name somewhere before; it had probably been the files he was forced to pick through when he was just beginning his work at Arkham, and even then the idea of someone being unable to fear would have even caught his attention then. It was preposterous! No one was immune to the effects of fear.

Slowly, he smiled, staring up at the cracks in the dingy ceiling of his cell. Perhaps, once he escaped this hole made purely of hell, he would find her. And maybe then he would run some of his favorite tests on her, just to find out how ridiculously _slow_ this 'Dr. Burton' really was.

The thought made being trapped in his cage bearable—at least, for a short while longer.

Later, as he was drifting off to sleep late into the night, and after the fatuous guard had taken back the file to return to the file room, once more to be long lost, he managed to turn to stare off into the hall. And he noticed Dr. Burton walking down the hallway, the asinine man looking equally disgruntled.

He stopped before the young guard that Crane had been speaking to, and began to scowl at him, speaking in soft tones. Jonathan became immediately suspicious—Dr. Burton, Miss Clark's doctor, approaching the imbecilic guard, the exact same guard that had taken a file on Dr. Burton's patient have a small spat in the middle of the night?

How… curious.

A strange thought came to mind, a very far-fetched idea, but it still made him smirk. It was one of those 'what if' ideas, this particular one making him lay down with an extra sense of high-wired relaxation. He looked up at his window, his crooked smile growing as Dr. Burton's voice grew louder before finally cutting off, his heel's making sharp clicking sounds as he walked back down the hallway. Jonathan glanced out of the corner of his eye to catch a look at the guard, who appeared meek, angry, and scared shitless all at the same time.

He only looked up once at Jonathan, shooting him a glare before he realized that the good doctor was watching him. He flinched and averted his gaze while Crane stared him for several seconds more. Finally, he looked away, and he continued to think about this strange idea, this _beyond_ far-fetched idea.

Eventually he was able to drift back near sleep, still thinking deeply about this girl and her doctor as his eyes soaked in the darkness.

Somewhere, when he was almost under, he recalled another note that Dr. Burton had written. He had pushed it to the back of his mind, not particularly interested, but it remained there, none-the-less. He had been taught (albeit it had been an accident) to always keep one's enemies closer than one's friend. Of course, the lesson had been more along the lines of 'keep your _prey_ closer, don't ever have any friends.' Along that line, it made this idea seem much more difficult.

_Brianna does not appear to have any sense of companionship._

Tiredly, he thought in response; we'll see.

* * *

_**A/U: Hey guys. Surprised? :D My schedual is normally Sundays and Wednesday's, but today's a Thursday! And it's super rainy here, by the way. I love the rain; it always makes it easier to think. :) Anyway, this isn't just some spontanious non-sense-I will be leaving on vacation this Friday (ahem, tomorrow) and I will be gone until next Thursday, so today I'm posting this Sunday's chapter, and tomorrow I will post next Wednesday's chapter because I'm unsure if I'll have internet while I'm gone.**_

_mrs-krios - I'm sorry to disappoint you about the John thing! D: And it is drawn out, I agree, but I tend to do that a lot. :x I want to make sure that every single detail is in there, so that you can understand my vision completely. I'll try to tighten it up a little more in the future. :)_

_Zeny - Thank you! And yes, yes there will. :) Not so much so, but he _is_ slightly important to the plot. Sadly, once he get's his important-bit debut he doesn't really appear much at all after that-well, as long as everything goes according to plan, that is._

_SaxonBandWagon - Oh, that's a relief! I'm happy you love it so much, and I'm _very _happy it makes sense. Hopefully, this one does, too. :o_

_K - Honestly, I would be, too. Thankfully I finally got over that horrible hump of a chapter, though it's going to be very short because I dislike it so much. . Also, you have no idea how much this means to me. As soon as I read your review I knew immediately that I had to try my hardest. I take pride in the work that I can put out that makes other people happy, and is something they can enjoy. You kind of have me in tears, just a small bit. XD I'm so lame... Thank you so much. :)_

**_As far as I can tell, I don't have any new favoritors or alert-ers. Sorry if you did and I just didn't notice. :x_**


	8. Down Came

_**When down came a blackbird and pecked off her nose!**_

The last thing Brianna remembered was that she was washing her hands obsessively all throughout Sunday, worrying that someone would come knocking on her door to arrest her. The next thing she knew she was in her bed, sprawled out over the covers, and for once she didn't feel as if her muscles were aching. Despite the fact that she didn't recall when she had gone to bed, it felt wonderful to finally be able to stretch out the way she did. She smiled, delighted, and opened her eyes to the soft morning light that drifted through the windows.

"Last night, the first National Bank was _robbed _by some unknown criminal. One-_million _dollars was taken from the vault, all in ten dollar bills. The Batman failed to capture this strange criminal—but will we be seeing them again?"

Brianna furrowed her brows in confusion. Why was the television on so loud that she could hear it all the way in her bedroom? Slowly she sat up, her hands swiping over pieces of… something, and hitting what felt like a can. Said can rolled off the bed and clattered onto the floor noisily. She looked around her room, drowsy, pushing a bunch of brunette hair out of her face.

"On the vault's walls someone had written _'Bad Dog' _in black spray-paint, a mark no-one in Gotham has ever seen before. Gotham's Finest are currently working on the _solution_ to this _new_ criminal. Some believe that this point's to gang activity."

Thus she found her room littered with ten dollar bills, surrounding her on the bed, covering the floors. Her eyes widened and she looked around, her mouth hung open, gaping.

Her mouth snapped closed when another sound joined that of the obnoxious news-woman—Harleen, maybe? She recognized it as her ringtone after one moment, and was confused as to where it was coming from for another before finding her coat hanging on her door across the room. She realized tiredly that the only person that could possibly be calling her would be her grandmother.

Flailing, she slid off the bed, almost tripping as she skidding on the bill's covering her floor. She looked up—the reason why she thought the television was so loud was because at some point she must have moved it. Now it was on her dresser, surrounded and covered in ten dollar bills. Brianna scrambled across the floor, trying not to fall directly on her face, until she managed to reach her door where her coat—and a certain red scarf—was hung on the handle. She dug into her pockets until she located the small smooth box that was emitting such a horrible racket.

When did she pick such a horrible ring tone?

Brianna made a disgusted face as she quickly pressed the 'receive call' button.

"Hello. Brianna Clark speaking." She looked around her room, running a hand through her hair and wondering exactly what she was going to do to fix this mess that had been undoubtedly made by Emma.

"Brianna? Oh thank _god!_"

Brianna winced when she recognized the voice. It was Yuki's. She remembered giving Yuki her cell-phone number after their first date, and now she desperately wished she hadn't. Images of Kendall draped over-top of him on the booth at the bar she had decided to take them to turned her vision red. All because that fucking Joker decided to kidnap her then let her go. She almost hung up as soon as she knew who it was; instead she scrunched her nose in annoyance and deciding to hear what he had to say.

Yuki was infected, and probably one of the most infected of them all.

"Where have you been? The office is frantic! After Kendall got kidnapped they were worried that something bad had happened to you, too." He sounded relieved and Brianna rolled her eyes, kicking bills out of her way to get out the door and down the hall. "The whole office was being investigated—everyone had to be interro- inter- uh—"

"Interrogated?"

"Yeah! And-"

"Yes, I know. I was there," Brianna said dully as she made her way to the kitchen. She checked underneath her nails eagerly, making sure she hadn't done anything that might have spilled a little blood. Instead she found her finger-tips stained black.

"Oh. I didn't know." Brianna held her tongue, waiting for him to continue as she pulled a glass from her cupboards. Of course he didn't know—he was probably much too busy ogling Kendall. "A-anyway, I think you're gunna get fired. No one's been able to contact you, though. I came over to check on you last night, but you weren't home—"

"What day is it, Yuki?" She snapped, cutting him off. He sputtered, stuttering a couple times before being able to actually spit out something worth hearing.

"Ah, it's, uh, Tuesday—no! Wednesday, the third—"

"Third of _what_?" Brianna hissed, clenching her fist. Her knuckles grew pale, but she hardly noticed.

"N-November."

Something shattered—Brianna didn't know what until she felt a sharp stinging in her hand. Her eyes widened just slightly and she dropped her phone, hissing in pain as shards of the cup she had just been holding cut her and made her bleed. What was left of the glass tinkled as they hit the floor, a disturbing mockery of the situation.

She could hear Yuki yelling into the phone, asking what had happened, and rolled her eyes. She decided she didn't care about him; she wanted him to worry. He was an idiot, a virus filled protuberance on the face of humanity. He had scorned Brianna in a way that made her want to wring the neck of a certain blond haired idiot that had never deserved to be born in the first place, and then castrate him for his crimes and prevent him from producing any more of his idiotic kind.

She had heard somewhere that blonde's had more fun. She simply wished that said fun was not had with her boyfriend—ex boyfriend, actually. Brianna winced at the thought of dating such an idiot. She cringed even more when she realized that she had managed to have _sex _with him! She hissed as she picked the glass out of her palm with her nails, dropping the pieces into the sink.

The wound's weren't too bad, but still, there were small cut's from which blood flowed sloppily, making it hard to locate where she had to find the next piece of the offending shards to pull out.

Once she finished she quickly washed away the blood, grabbing a rag that had been left lying on the counter and wrapping it around her hand. She didn't bother to sweep up the mess she had made—simply picking out her phone.

"Brianna? Brianna! Brianna, I'm coming ov-" She snapped the phone shut before she was subjected to hearing more of his ridiculous ranting. Why would he continue to blather on if he knew that she couldn't hear him? She rolled her eyes as she moved back to her bed room, kicking as much of the money underneath her bed as she could.

"And on a lighter note, _Kendall Glenn_, our very own hero here on GCN has some rumors circling around her about starting up a talk-show of her very own. Could you tell us about it, Kendall?" The brunette woman spun on her heels, staring with wide eyes at the television before her gaze narrowed harshly. She ground her teeth together, glaring at the screen. There she was; blond hair, perky boobs, waist the size of a straw. She smiled charmingly at the news castor, batting her eyelashes in a vague attempt at flirting with every single man watching the news at that second.

Brianna only faltered for a moment—something was off about the Barbie Princess, but she couldn't put her finger on it. It was as if her face was the wrong shape, or maybe the wrong color. Perhaps she was wearing more make-up that usual, Brianna mused. If she managed to get twenty layers on her face instead of the usual ten it might make her look a bit bloated.

"Well, I-" Brianna scowled, clicking off the television as quickly as she possibly could before she decided to throw it out the nearest window.

"A fucking_ talk-show_?" She hissed lowly, her eyes narrowing darkly. "You've _got _to be _fucking _kidding me!" She growled, then let out a slow, shaky breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to control her temper for several long moments, before being able to open her eyes again.

She recalled somewhere in the back of her mind that she had never been this out of control when on her medicine.

Suddenly decided, she grabbed her jacket, and as if it had inserted into her mind subliminally, she grabbed the scarf as well. She walked with purpose towards the door, deciding that she needed to get this over and done with as soon as possible—but refused to think about where she was going, for more than one reason.

She climbed into her car, shoving the key into the ignition with vigor. The car spat and wheezed for several seconds, struggling to turn on, and Brianna could feel the frustration building in her throat. She scowled, and the vehicle finally came alive. She didn't hesitate to pull out into the street, effectively cutting several incredibly angry drivers off in the process.

She was half-way there when she suddenly had a passenger. Brianna didn't have to look to know; she could simply feel it. She didn't give much away to realizing that she was there; her finger's simply tightened around the steering wheel, her left hand aching this time. She wondered when, exactly, her luck had decided to run out.

Probably the moment Kendall decided to live.

"Where are we going?"

Brianna only offered Emma a glance. She focused on the road ahead of her, however, having to move up in the ever so slow traffic of Gotham. She pondered replying, but she decided that the lack of control at certain moments was too much. She didn't know when Emma could 'take the wheel' next, literally and figuratively. As far as she knew, it was purely up to the diseased version of herself when she got her run in _Brianna's _body.

"Wait, I recognize this…" Emma hummed, frowning slightly. Then her eyes widened and she turned to look at Brianna who didn't even offer her a glance. Realization and inexplicable horror colored her face. "You're not—tell me you're not-!"

Brianna rolled her eyes and shot a glare at Emma, who was staring at the current driver with a strange intensity in her eyes.

"You're hanging me out to dry." Emma sighed and slumped in her seat, before smiling just slightly. Her change in attitude made Brianna nervous and she tapped her blackened fingers against the wheel in an unsteady beat. She didn't want to be subjected to Emma's games—and she _knew _she would play games. That was simply her nature.

Brianna watched the traffic around her eagerly, wishing that the people would just get a move on so she could get to where she needed to be.

"You know, you're better than them." Brianna flinched, despite the fact that it made her pride swell. At least someone noticed, even if it was technically the one person that was worse than everyone else.

She forced herself to focus on ignoring Emma. She didn't need to get lost in her games, whether she was truthful—and knowledgeable—or not. They were slowly easing out of the congestion, into the area where people tended to drive less and less, at least, at this time of day. She struggled to maintain her focus.

"Are you not the perfect person you thought you were, Brianna Clark?" Emma asked, clicking the 'k' in 'Clark' sharply. Brianna struggled to keep the steering wheel straight. "You're better than those idiots in the office," Emma sang, gently tapping her fingers against the glass of the window. She gazed out at Gotham, her eyes soaking it all in. Her icy blue gaze followed a particular couple, walking along the street, holding hands. "Even them; they think they are happy, but they don't know the truth. They have no _value._"

Brianna's lips twitched upwards slightly, a small, malevolent smirk forming on her face. It was discrete, and paled in comparison to her eyes, those of which glared out at the road. The clouds were thickening, as if threatening to bring a storm down on Gotham. They were getting closer to her destination.

"You and I, we have a purpose. We are two halves of one whole for a reason." Emma smiled slowly; her finger's continuing their rhythm. It was beginning to become a hectic beat, one that matched the unsteady pounding of Brianna's heart. She felt intrigued by Emma's knowledge. She supposed that even scum could have a certain amount of brains.

Emma turned to look at Brianna, watched as she pretended to ignore her. Brianna didn't bother to humor the look in her eyes.

"You are smart enough to see them, Brianna. To see all of them. Those who are not as smart as you, who cannot contribute, while I," Emma smirked venomously, her eyes glittering with mischief, "can do what you won't."

Emma stopped her tapping, but Brianna's heart kept with the rhythm.

"You are wasting yourself at that paper of yours, at that job. We are not helpin' anyone that way."

Snow had steadily begun to fall from the sky, making all of Gotham seem bleak. It was soft and slow, not causing any sort of harm to anyone. Brianna could still see clearly ahead of her, enough so that as she was driving she managed to see the black mass lying in the middle of the road. Some sort of dead animal, she realized, as they sped closer.

"We can help Gotham if you simply listen to me. We can rid it of those who do not deserve to breathe this air—despite its bad quality."

As Brianna neared she slowed her car, not getting any grief thanks to the traffic seeming to have vanished some miles back.

"We could cure Gotham of its disease!" Emma laughed, tossing back her head and throwing up her arms in her excitement.

She drove carefully around the mass, and watched it wearily. She realized that it was a bird of some sort—and a large one at that. Black feather's lay around it in a mess and its gut's spilled grotesquely from holes that were no longer holes, it was so torn apart. As she examined it, she looked up just enough and saw something rather disturbing in the trees, just off the side of the road. It was more birds—these one's, alive, and simply waiting for her to pass so they could pick apart he who had fallen.

"Reminiscent of Gotham itself, isn't it?" Emma murmured. "We can save it. We could," Emma sighed, as if she was caught in a wonderful daydream. She set her chin on her hand, her elbow on the edge of the window.

Brianna thought of it for a moment. She was coming up to the Asylum, where she would find Dr. Burton, but she still had the chance to turn around. She could still change her mind at this point—it wasn't too late. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the road ahead of her. She was almost there…

"Emma," Brianna murmured, speaking to her for the first time since she had awakened to the mess that Emma had made herself. Emma turned to look at her eagerly, a smile finding its way onto her face.

"Yeah?"

"I… You are crazy," Brianna hummed, but she did not appear pleased. Anger swelled slightly in her stomach, and in her harebrained fury she pushed down on the gas-pedal, speeding just enough as she came closer to her destination.

Emma's smile fell half-way, her eyes growing wide with confusion. Brianna turned her head just slightly, glaring at her mirror image in the seat next to her.

"I will not tolerate killing anyone—no matter _how _fucking useless they may be," she growled.

"You can't get rid of me, Brianna," Emma said softly, shaking her head. Tears gently rolled down her cheeks, and she sniffled. Brianna rolled her eyes at the useless emotion, feeling no compassion at all towards her sadness. She drove faster, speeding down the roads that were becoming harder to see to get to the Asylum faster. She was going so fast across the bridge she was almost sure that the wheels would begin spinning out of control and she would go sliding out into the water. She didn't care; if she died, at least Emma would be dead as well.

Somehow, by a stroke of luck—whether it was good or bad, she was unsure—she made it to the Asylum. She glared up at it through the snow, shoving her hands in her pockets and squinting her eyes. Brianna shoved her hands in her pockets and scowled, her hair whipping about her face and her scarf being torn by the wind.

"Be careful; you may choke," Emma giggled, tugging gently on her scarf. Brianna whipped around to glare at her, to make her go away, but she was nowhere to be found. Emma and her mind games; neither were tolerated.

Brianna trudged into the Asylum, pushing open the front hospital doors. It was the main building; no inmates were kept here, only doctors and their offices when they weren't treating patients. That, and a desk behind which a secretary sat typing away awkwardly on a computer, glasses perched on the edge of her nose.

"Hello, excuse me," Brianna called rudely as she entered; letting the wind slam the door shut behind her. The woman looked up, seemingly surprised. Brianna walked swiftly up to the desk, loosening her scarf slightly. It had tightened around her throat, and she felt as if she was slowly being suffocated. "I'm here to see Dr. Burton. I don't have an appointment, but it is an emergency."

"Ah, I'm sorry ma'am, but I can't get you-"

The secretary was cut off abruptly as Brianna slammed her hands down on the desk, leaning forward to loom threateningly over the small woman. She jumped as Brianna glared at her, her fingernails digging into the wood of the desk. She hadn't meant to hit the desk as hard as she did, but she supposed it served its purpose.

"I doubt that Dr. Burton is currently in a conference with anyone, if you have failed to notice the weather outside as of ten minutes ago. Now I would _deeply _appreciate it if you would simply call Dr. Burton down to see me." Brianna flashed the frightened woman a smile, one that wasn't even vaguely comforting. "It has been a while since I have last seen him and I'm sure that he would be delighted to know that I have come to visit. Understood?"

The secretary stared with wide eyes before snapping out of her daze and slowly nodding. Brianna watched unmoving as she picked up the phone and quickly called down to Dr. Burton's office. After she finished, Brianna simply gave her a smile and moved away from her desk, not quite caring about the welfare of the young woman.

She was another one of the stupid one's, but she was smart enough to fear her. Brianna couldn't help but relish the idea; she noticed. There were so many idiotic people in the world that took no notice of her, but this secretary continued to watch Brianna even while she had her back turned. She could feel it. This woman was still diseased, however, and Brianna couldn't help but scowl in disgust.

"Of the wolf, I suppose." Brianna ignored Emma, who stood at the door, refusing to fully enter the establishment. The brunette woman rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, gently tapping her foot unsteadily against the tiled flooring. Her eyes snapped up, but Brianna didn't wish to meet her gaze. "Afraid, I mean."

"Ah, Miss Clark!"

Brianna turned around, surprised to find Dr. Burton had already made his way down. He smiled at her in a way that made her narrow her eyes in distaste, but she easily covered it up as an eager smile.

"Hello, Dr. Burton," she replied. He came to her, reaching out to give her a hand-shake. She stared at his hand for one moment too long before taking it, regretting her decision instantly. She made the hand-shake short, but as soon as he turned his back to begin leading her down the hallway she wiping her palm on her pants, grimacing in distaste.

"Well, what have you come early for? I thought we had a meeting scheduled for the 16th," he inquired as they walked down the white hallways. Despite the fact that it was where the offices were kept, Brianna thought it looked remarkably like a hospital.

A grim look set across Brianna's face and she glared at the ground, her hands sliding out of her pockets. She didn't recall putting them into her pockets, but she must have. She was also looking directly at Dr. Burton, standing in front of his office door. When had they gotten here? She supposed it didn't matter.

She opened her mouth to reply to his question.

* * *

_**A/U: I wont be responding to my reviews today-I don't have very many at all, so I think that I can save them for next chapter when I'm back from vacation. Well, wait. I believe it was** __Zeny **and **mrs-krios **that wished me a good time on vacation? Well, thank you both! :) I plan on taking plenty of pictures, so when I get back if some of them are really good they'll be on Deviantart if anyone is interested. I'll put my profile information up with next chapter.**_

_**Also, once again Brianna's ideas on her disgust just baffle me. There isn't much in this one, but if anyone is at all confused, PLEASE ask questions. I would really like to make reading this story as easy as possible, but I can't do that unless I know what to change and when to help out.**_

_**Thank you, and I'll see you all next week Sunday. :D**_


	9. Snow

_**The north wind doth blow and we shall have snow.**_

Brianna's elbow's ached terribly. She could feel her pulse drumming them, as if her blood was making them throb to the beat of her heart. Her eyes felt heavy, as well, but when she finally managed to make them focus—her eyes weren't even closed, which was strange enough—she found herself face-to-face with a padded cell.

She was beyond furious, because she knew what had happened the moment she set eyes on the pillow-y substance. Emma had done something—and she wasn't exactly sure _what_—to get her locked up in some kind of cell. She didn't know for how long, but she was sure she was about to find out. That was how these demented exchanges went, wasn't it? She was somewhere that made sense one second, knowing exactly how she got there and why, and in the next she was in a place completely opposite to that and she had to figure out what day it was and how many she had missed.

This place, it didn't really make sense. Why she was here, she didn't know. How long she had been here, another mystery. She wasn't even one-hundred percent sure she knew where she was, but she had a pretty good idea.

She craned her neck upwards to glare at the camera. Of course, someone had to be watching, and she just hoped they managed to notice how her personality did a complete one-eighty. She didn't want to be stuck in this little white shoe-box for longer than necessary. That was something that only belonged to Emma—the only thing, Brianna decided.

She was only vaguely lucky. The workpeople of Arkham Asylum took their sweet time realizing that Brianna was no dangerous _or_ disturbed criminal. Finally, the door that caged her was unlocked and she was able to step out, despite the fact that she was still trapped within a paste-grey straight jacket.

"Hello. We're here to take you to Dr. Burton's for your session," a young woman said, giving Brianna a children's toothpaste sort of smile. Sickly sweet in the farfetched ideal of being somewhat healthy. She was wearing a nurse's uniform, her hands folded in front of her, and she was flanked by two burly looking guards.

Brianna couldn't help but stare for a moment. Something about this nurse seemed shockingly familiar, as if she'd seen her before. She furrowed her brows, her eyes ghosting over the guard's behind her. The one on the right stared at her intensely with bright green eyes, and she was almost sure she had seen him, as well. The other guard wasn't even paying attention, looking off towards the walls.

Brianna swiftly shook her head, trying to ignore the insane thoughts in her mind. There was no way she had ever seen these people before. Perhaps maybe Emma had seen them, but she wasn't keen on the idea of remembering things that Emma had seen.

"This way, please," the nurse said in a sickly way. She turned and began to lead Brianna down the hallway, and she rolled her eyes. The guards fell into step behind Brianna and they practically pushed her down the halls behind the tooth-fairy nurse.

Brianna looked around at the walls, peering down the hallways when she could. It was obviously Arkham Asylum; she could tell by the way that the guards seemed infinitely nervous, and how the nurse had to slide a card through a slot at every door. The extreme amount of security put into this place was extremely ridiculous. Brianna was even more surprised, considering the fact that the West Wing Criminal's tended to break out every other week.

Finally, they made it to some sort of room used for doctor-patient encounters.

"Right in here. You're doctor is waiting," the nurse smiled, though it was chilling. Brianna caught her gaze for a single moment, and she knew for sure that she had seen this woman before. Something was off about her; something that made it so she simply didn't belong. She was ushered into the room before she could figure out what it was that was so strange, exactly.

She was correct, of course. Dr. Burton was inside, waiting, with his clip-board in his lap. He looked up as Brianna entered and gave her a weary smile. The brunette noticed slowly fading scars down the left side of his face, sliding over his cheek and underneath his chin. She raised an eyebrow at that, realizing that Emma must have made those scars.

She sat down and smiled at him, though it was unbelievably fake. She felt a strange itch on the back of her neck and turned her head slightly to see that the guard with the green eyes was watching her intently, standing next to the doorway, that of which was now closed. The nurse was nowhere to be seen, and the other guard must have gone with her.

"Good afternoon, Emma, how are you-?"

"Brianna," she snapped, turning her head quickly to glare at her doctor. His eyes widened slightly and his finger's twitched, as if about to reach for the drawer that was already pulled open slightly on the other side of the desk. She quickly forced in a breath and attempted to give him a pleasant smile. She was not like Emma; she wouldn't lash out and attack him. Actually, the thought of simply touching him made bile rise in the back of her throat.

"P-pardon?" He stuttered, then cleared his throat as if that had been the cause for his speech impediment.

"My name is Brianna, Doctor," she sighed, closing her eyes as if struggling to hold her patients. It would do her no good to lash out at him. If she wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, she simply needed to play their game the way they expected it to be played. Being good meant getting out.

"Oh!" He yelped, and a genuine smile fitted on his lips. "Brianna, it's ah—well, I suppose it's good to see you." Brianna nodded, simply watching him and wishing he would get on with it. He was simply another one of those disgusting human beings, those of whom were not as aware of her as they should be, but he was still in charge of her stay here. He would determine when she would leave, and she would not jeopardize herself.

"I do apologize for whatever it was that Emma may have done to you, but I was on my way here for a reason. I simply wish to get myself some medication and leave, Dr. Burton, and then I will not bother you again," Brianna said smoothly. He stared at her for a moment, frowning.

"Oh, I cannot do that, Miss Clark," he said. Brianna raised an eyebrow, her annoyance making her shift slightly in her seat.

"And why is that, Doctor?" She asked evenly, though she was glaring heatedly at him.

"Because you confessed—"

"Emma, Doctor," Brianna corrected. "I have not done anything at all since I've apparently been delivered to this place." She regarded the room around her with disgust, and Dr. Burton swiftly wrote something down on his neat little check board.

"Er, sorry," he said, blushing. "_Emma _confessed to murdering several people and robbing a bank. You—er, Emma," he quickly saved himself once he caught Brianna's look. "is very dangerous.

"Can I at least be released from this thing?" Brianna hissed, struggling to stretch her arms at least a small bit. "My elbows are swollen."

"Oh! Yes, of course." He nodded to the guard behind Brianna, and she bit her tongue as he came forward and began to undo the buckles that held her in. When he was finished she swatted him away with her sleeve, sliding out of the jacket the rest of the way on her own as he backed away. She dropped it on the floor, annoyed, and rubbed her elbows bitterly. Her shoulders ached and her muscles clenched and unclenched dully. She rolled her shoulders back and sighed lightly.

"I can assure you," Brianna tried again, her eyes flickering up to make contact with Dr. Burton's, "I am perfectly capable of being a well oiled citizen. I simply need my medication back, and everything will go back to normal." She shrugged.

"You have been proven wrong already, Brianna," Dr. Burton said simply, leaning back in his chair as if he had won—and without even fighting the battle. Brianna raised her eyebrows, giving him a small, easy smile. There was no feeling behind it.

"That was because of unusual circumstances, and said circumstance likely won't be happening again."

"I just can't let you leave," he said sharply, suddenly sitting up straight. He nodded to the guard again, who reach to haul Brianna to her feet. She dodged out of his grasp, standing herself and giving Dr. Burton a dangerous glare. He stared back, but was starting to see a small mistake in allowing her out of her straight jacket. The guard didn't act again, but stood close, as if preparing to tackle her to the ground if need be. "You must understand; I am simply here to help you," he said nervously, holding up his hands with his palms towards her, as if in surrender. "That medication simply suppressed your side-effects—they didn't cure the problem.

"Now, since you're not so much of a threat to the other patients, you may be moved to your new room," he continued, leaning back once more in his supposed victory. For a moment she had a sneer on her face as she regarded his words; he had said _room._ Brianna's eyes narrowed angrily, and her fists clenched, but she made no move towards him. She watched him with an icy blue gaze, instead, and he struggled to suppress a shutter and failed. Humiliated by his fear, he looked away from her, his palms sweating as he rubbed them together. "Go ahead; take her away," he hissed towards the guard.

Brianna turned to him, but gave the guard a warning look. If he touched her, she wouldn't be afraid to remove his hands. Something about someone touching her without her permission made her stomach twist as if she were about to vomit.

The green-eyed guard led her down the twisting hallways, having a card of his own to get him through. As they neared what was labeled as the 'West Wing,' Brianna rolled her eyes. Did they honestly think that she was so dangerous? It was a ridiculous notion; she was sure that Emma had not killed that many people… correct? Suddenly, she wasn't so sure anymore.

Another guard joined them, this one not as curious as the memorable guard that Brianna couldn't help but think she recognized. She continued to stare at his back as he led her, the other guard walking leisurely behind her. He didn't even bother talking to the first guard, the one that would seem to follow her everywhere from that point on.

They went through several more doors, those of which each required a different pass-code, and she imagined a separate one would be needed to get out from the inside, as well. Brianna rolled her eyes at their excessive means before huffing and going back to massaging her elbows. They throbbed steadily, and she was wondering if she could somehow force Dr. Burton into one of those things so he knew exactly what it was like to wear one. Then he might think twice about making her wear such a ridiculous contraption.

Finally, they moved through the last door into a long, wide hallway of glass walls. Except, they weren't glass; they were come kind of bullet proof plastic, so Brianna thought. Each one was as tall and as wide as the cell they belong to, and each cell was seemingly identical, apart from the person inside of them. Brianna immediately recognized it as what was lovingly referred to as the 'Rogue's Gallery.'

As she passed, she noticed the Joker sitting in his cell on her left. He looked up as they passed, and when he saw Brianna, a slow grin stretched across his face.

"Hey, uh, _sweet_-tuh-_cheeks_," the Joker jeered, but she ignored him spitefully. It was _his _fault that she was going to be locked in here. If not fully and completely, at least partially. Her eyes narrowed as he came to the front of his cell, pressing his hands against the Plexiglas. "What're you doing, ah, here, of all places?" He hissed, then tossed back his head and laughed. Brianna glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips twitching slightly in her annoyance.

She was only slightly surprised to find that his face was clean of his make-up, and his greasy hair was somewhat cleaner than when she last saw him. His teeth were still a sickly yellow color, however, and he grinned at her enough for her to see that he probably hadn't brushed his teeth since a very long, long time ago. She cringed at the thought and looked away before he could realize that she was staring at him.

"And here I thought you were, eh, _tame_," he giggled. "Glad to see I was, uhm, wrong."

Brianna glanced backwards at him, if only because his new tone was unbelievably darker. His laugh was lower this time as he watched her, their eyes connected. At least, until the guard behind her moved to shove her into her new cell. She saw it out of the corner of her eye, just barely, and she moved at the last second, causing this new guard to stumble forwards, thanks to his momentum.

The green eyed guard stood, holding the plastic, square cell-door open. He raised an eyebrow at the other guard as his eyes widened and his face turned bright red, first in humiliation, then in fury as the Joker began to cackle obnoxiously at the new display. More laughter joined it—that of a woman in the next cell over, directly across from the Joker. She had neared her Plexiglas wall as well, to watch the exchange. Her cell was directly next to Brianna's, making the Joker's kiddy-corner to her own. The brunette only had a moment to examine her, seeing that she had long, curly red hair and strikingly green eyes, like that of the forest.

Brianna had the chance to glance briefly over at the cell that was across from hers, as well, where a slim brown haired man sat on his cot nonchalantly, a pair of silver-framed glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He had only looked up for what appeared to be a brief moment to see what exactly the scuffle was, but then seemingly became uninterested and looked back down at the book that he had in his hands.

"You little bitch," the second guard hissed, but before he could do anything to harm her she slid into her cell. The green-eyed guard closed it before the other man could charge inside and hit her, thankfully. "You idiot! I was gunna teach 'er a lesson!" The guard growled.

The green-eyed guard didn't say anything, simply walked away.

"I'm watching you," the guard hissed, then stomped down the hall like some sort of child. Brianna rolled her eyes and turned her back to the clear wall, taking in her new living space. There was a very uncomfortable looking cot in the back, left-hand corner. Towards the right in the back there was a wall protruding outwards awkwardly, and behind that a toilet. She noticed directly across from it there was a camera, however, and she assumed she had no privacy anywhere in this place. There was also a sink on the right wall, the pipe's underneath bare to the world. No mirrors, no shelves, no chance for personal touches. It was remarkably bland.

Brianna turned around, realizing she still didn't know what day it was. She loathed talking to the Joker, the idea something beyond grotesque. However, when she turned, her eyes suddenly found another.

The brunette man was staring at her, and she realized very suddenly that his gaze was shockingly blue, perhaps more blue than her own. She stiffened for a second when he didn't turn away upon being caught, but that wasn't the worst of it. His eyes were calculating, hardly human at all. He looked at her like any person might look at an inanimate object, simply regarding her existence.

She tore her eyes away, but she knew that he was still watching her. Her skin itched as if he was dragging his prickly gaze through her flesh.

"Joker!" She called. The green haired man was still at his door, and he simply grinned at her, as if he had been watching her, as well. She realized very suddenly that _everyone _in the hall would be watching her; she was the new kid, after all. A situation she had never before encountered in the entirety of her life

"Yes, ah, doll-face?" He hissed, stretching out the 'c' as if it were twenty 's's. She sent him annoyed look.

"I have a name, Mr. Bubbles." His grin widened so much she was almost sure that his scars would re-open, old wounds spilling new blood. "What day is it?" She asked, and regretted it the moment she saw the look on his face.

"I'm not, ah, sure, honey-bear." Brianna's eyebrow's shot upwards; that was a new one. Something about talking to him made her realize just how gross he was in the vainest of ways. "I don't keep tall-ee mark-suh like, uh, Jonny-boy, here." He snickered as he jerked a thumb in the brunette stick's direction.

Jonny-boy? Brianna's eyebrows fell and scrunched together. She stared at this other man for a second, this robotic human being and suddenly it clicked. This would be the ever infamous Scarecrow, instigator of Fear-Night, and responsible for running some misplaced experiments on the crazies of Arkham Asylum when he ran the place. His name was Jonathan Crane, if she knew her facts. Of course she did; one point, it had been her goddamn _job _to know.

"I don't need a piece of chalk to keep track of the days of the week," Jonathan said lowly, not looking up from the book he had returned to. He flipped to the next page, and Brianna's finger's curled into a fist. "It's the 11th; a Thursday," he answered anyway.

Brianna sniffed slightly, very disgusted by this man. He was another of the diseased; she could see it, simply by the way he stared into his book as if no one else mattered. As if _she _didn't matter. He was just another idiot. Something inside of her ached to act out, to claw her way out of her cage and into his and _prove _just how much he should be paying attention to her. Brianna turned away, walking towards her cot. She was a force to be reckoned with; a person to be feared. A man such as him should know better than to underestimate her.

Yet she couldn't help but feel a certain amount of respect for him. She sat down on her cot and crossed her legs, suddenly not completely concerned about the date. Memories of her father slithered into her head. These memories she shook away before they could invade her, give her the means to cause a scene.

How _long_ _she stayed_ in this place was directly a result of how _well she behaved_ in this place.

Brianna was soon restless, sitting in her cell and listening to the Joker go on about something that everyone else struggled to ignore. When he finally fell silent, it was long after the lights had been turned out, and after everyone had their fair share of time yelling at him to shut up. Mostly those people consisted of faceless voices echoing down the hall.

"You know," Emma hummed much later. Brianna couldn't be too angry; she wasn't going to fall asleep, anyway. Not when it felt like she was sleeping on a board. Rolling over and dozing off on the cement floor would be more comfortable. "that guard was rather helpful."

Brianna readjusted herself, turning over so she could look over at Emma, who sat against the far wall with her knee's drawn up to her chest. Unsurprisingly, she still got to wear her coat and scarf while Brianna was forced to wear the disgusting regulation, orange jumpsuit. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at her, but continued to watch her anyway.

"But you still don't like him. Why?" Emma frowned, tightening her hold around her knee's. "Oh. You believe that everyone is diseased, don't you?" She sighed and looked to the side, setting her cheek against the cement.

Brianna simply watched her, her eyes half-lidded. She was vaguely amused by the way that Emma knew exactly what was on her mind.

"I don't understand why you don't like me," she whimpered, and then sighed. Brianna realized that Emma was crying and rolled her eyes, deciding that she didn't care anymore if she was going to be an idiot. "I just… I want to know why you're so disgusted by me, specifically."

Brianna knew. Of course she knew; because despite the fact that she hated Emma, just as she had assumed, and how much she would never admit it to anyone and probably not even herself, she knew that she was just like Emma once. Not even that; she _was _Emma once. She had removed her once she realized exactly what was wrong with her, why she couldn't… _handle _being with… _him. _Her father, whom she still respected_. _She had removed what had been killing her; and what was killing her was disease. Selfishness and those thoughts that made life so unclear, that blinded motive's and rotted the brain.

What was more, she saw that no one else had been able to remove this disease as she had. Brianna's eyes narrowed.

"And that is why you're better than everyone else."

Brianna turned and looked up. Emma was standing half-way across the room, staring at her. Then slowly, she smirked. She tugged gently at her scarf, unwinding it and then holding it in her upturned palms. The effect made it look as if she was holding a river of blood.

"I _understand_."

Brianna jerked awake, gasping, and stared with wide eyes at her new ceiling. When had she fallen asleep? She didn't remember. There was no sunlight, but it seemed as if everything was brighter. They had turned on the lights again.

"Alright! Everyone up!" A booming voice called down the hall. Brianna sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes, annoyance flitting across her face. She felt no need to mute it, however. Being around normal people didn't annoy her as much as being around only Emma did.

With a chill she recalled her dream; Emma's bloody hands had disturbed her. She was not quite so fearful, but more uneasy in thoughts. It was a strange realization that had come with her dream. As if everything was suddenly very clear, she knew _why _everyone was diseased, why she saw them that way. She hadn't been sure before now.

She might've felt sadness, if that was something she could do. Everyone was diseased—even herself at one point—but there was no cure. Brianna knew she was simply of special circumstance, that there was no hope for the other people. And even though this disease had no cure, it had a name.

It was called humanity.

* * *

_**A/U: Hello! Couple of things. 1.) I will only be updating once a week until I can get back into the swing of writting this story. I had written several chapters ahead before, but then took a break and it's tough to get back into it. D: Also, school is starting up in... 15 days, and I need to give myself some time to juggle everything, including the job I'm feeling really confident about getting. Don't worry! I have several chapters prepared yet, I just need some time to get ahead again.**_

_**2.) I hate this chapter. It is NOT a filler-I hate that word. There should never be a filler in a story! Every word written should have a purpose. It's just that this chapter is purely transition into Brianna's new envirtoment, and I hate writting (and reading -.-') this kinda of chapters. However, it's necessary, and I refuse to get rid of any important details.**_

_**3.) Minecraft-thou hast no mercy for mine captivated soul. XD**_

_mrs-krios - Hey, sorry I've deprived you of Crane for so long! D: Don't worry-from this point on, he will be much more prominant in this story. I actually doubt I will have any chapters without him, at least until... well, that's a secret. But for now we'll just say Until. :)_

_Zeny - Thank you and thank you!_

_aurielles - Thank you for the tip. :o Hopefully I wont have that problem any more. Instead of talking, it's more of a series of thoughts and questions that I put in. What do you think of that? Also, excited that you're excited! I hope that I have done him justice-I am extra super nervous about writting Crane out. Despite what some people say (for example; Joker is so hard to write! Even I have said that, I'm sure!) I feel like Crane is one of the hardest of characters to write. To his fans, everyone knows his past, that of which is set in stone and it's up to everyone who write's him how he reacts to the little things because of that past, while the Joker, _no one _knows what he's thinking, so there is a lot more freedom in that. Crane just likes to back my writting skills into a corner and stab them with a pen. T.T_

_sgt pippa - Thank you! I'm happy you think it is good! :) I love that you love her, and yes, it does make sense. But do you really think that she's a unique conecpt? That just... I can't put it into words. That is amazing-I _**live** _for comments like that! :D I'm happy you found it, too. Even when I got your review and I knew I had to rewrite Brianna's and Crane's first meeting. I hope it's a bit more entertaining now-but that comes later._

**_Thank you to _**_xPoisonxApplex660 **and**Gorillazgurl98 **for considering this story one of their favorites, and **sgt pippa **for favoriting, reviewing, AND alerting this story. T.T You've made me so**_** happy!**


	10. Poor Robin

_**And what will the poor robin do then, poor thing?**_

Brianna supposed that the Joker's very favorite pass-time would have to be harassing the red-haired lady that currently resided in the cell next to hers.

From the very moment they woke up, he decided that he would enjoy starting a conversation with the woman, who did her very best to ignore him. He continued to spew harassment—er, nonsense. Brianna struggled to block out his grating voice, but she had to hand it to him; he was hard to ignore.

Brianna opted to sit cross-legged in the middle of her cell, listening and occasionally turning to watch as the guards paced every so often. She noticed the painfully familiar guard the most, but he only passed by once. There was one other guard who paced with the familiar person, but she paid him no attention. She instead watched the green-eyed man, studying him. He had chocolate colored hair and a bit of stubble on his square jaw. His shoulders were broad and he looked like he could possibly punch a hole in a wall—actually, he looked as if he already had. He was attractive, but Brianna felt no attraction.

Emma seemed to have vanished since her dream. Brianna was used to not _seeing _her, of course, but even if she wasn't there she could feel her. Or, at least she supposed she could, because now that Emma was gone she realized that she had. It was a strange absence that made her shiver, one that she had never even felt when she was taking her medication. She felt cold where she was once warm.

However, it was not an unpleasant feeling.

The walls of her cell was cold, and her room was a little drafty, her bed extremely uncomfortable and the one time she tried the sink it had gushed rust—though she wasn't sure if she had imagined that last bit or not. The whole ordeal was impeccably uncomfortable, but there was one particular piece that really made her itch.

Dr. Jonathan Crane refused to stop staring at her. She could feel it, on the back of her neck as she sat in her cell, her back facing the Plexiglas wall in an attempt to ignore everyone on the outside. Since he woke up himself he had gone back and forth between pretending to stare at his book and then staring at her when she wasn't looking. But she could _feel _it. His attention made her back itch relentlessly, and she kept reaching back to scratch at it, which she was sure was peculiar in itself.

Unsurprisingly, being without Emma made her feel much calmer, but also nervous at the same time. She knew what Emma did; and she also knew that Emma was stronger than her, perhaps much more feral. Emma had the strength to do what Brianna would not, and perhaps that was the girl's one redeeming quality. She pressed her lips into a tight line at the thought.

"Brianna Clark, it's time for breakfast."

Brianna stiffened slightly, her muscles tensing in annoyance, before finally relaxing. She reminded herself once more that appearance was everything in a place like this. However, it wasn't as forced as it had been before. With Emma gone she was so much more relaxed, so when she stood and turned, the smile wasn't as hard to bring to her lips as it had been previously.

There was a guard as her door, but not the one she recognized and she was grateful for that. Thinking so heatedly about why she recognized him was starting to give her a massive headache, and incredibly frustrating. Besides that, she was also extremely annoyed that she was in this predicament, but not necessarily at Emma the more she thought it over. Really, it was Dr. Burton's fault; he had decided not to give her medication, when she very well could be back home, begging for her job back and finding some man to have sex with so she could get over the fact that her last time had been with Yuki.

The thought made her cringe.

She stood and walked to where he was waiting for her, and once he got there he swiftly cuffed her hand together in front of her, then grabbed the chain link in between the cuffs to pull her by, closing the door behind her. Another guard came up behind her, and she rolled her eyes. Just as long as they didn't touch her skin, she supposed it would be alright to allow them to go unscathed.

The guards herded her down the hall, using a different pass code to leave the Rogue's Gallery—she just _knew _that they had to have a different one for each side. He led her down the hallway, to another room that was packed with people, guards and patients alike. The guards stood against the walls while the patients ate at long rectangular tables, reminiscent of a high school lunch room. She was ushered into the line, and then simply fell into the flow.

It appeared as everyone knew exactly what wing she belonged to. The patients in front of her skittered forwards as fast as possible, and the patients behind her stayed several steps away at all times. A guard walked next to her—one of her _very kind _escorts—and another waited for her at the end of the line.

Of course, she didn't particularly see the point of even calling this meal breakfast besides the fact that it was at the beginning of the day. A lunch-lady—er, man?—slopped a pile of brown-grey substance onto her plate, and she wasn't quite sure if it was supposed to have noodles or rice in it to compliment. Then she was given a bottle of water that she was sure she would be forced to throw away once she was done. Then she was promptly led from the room.

She could feel every single patient staring at her back as she left, and her eyes slid to gaze back at each and every one of them. Their gazes didn't falter, and her finger's twitched slightly. She drank in every possible second.

The guards led her down the hallway to another room. She was confused for a moment; why did they simply not leave her to eat with the other inmates? Surely they didn't care about their health so much. But they simply brought her to a small room, with a table in the center. She entered before they could push her in, and sat down at the table. One of her escorts stood beside the door inside the room, and the other out in the hallway.

When her breakfast partner arrived, her guards took their place on the inside and outside, as well. Brianna immediately recognized her as the woman that had the cell beside hers. Her fiery red hair was wild and curly, and her green eyes pierced into Brianna the moment that she stepped into the room.

Brianna could not deny this woman her beauty. She was gorgeous in every way, from her endlessly long legs to her perfectly arched eyebrows. She regarded Brianna for a second, before making her way into the room to take a seat across from her.

"You are the new girl," she murmured. Brianna was struck by the fact that even her voice was beautiful. It was soft and melodic, as if she was the wind. Brianna stared at her for a moment with her icy blue eyes; once again, she realized that the woman was undeniably attractive, but there was no attraction.

She didn't reply to the woman's words, seeing as it was a statement rather than a question. She had no need.

"We do not often get new rogues," she murmured, nodding gently. "I believe that I heard your name this morning; Brianna Clark, was it?"

Brianna looked up from her meal briefly to stare at the woman with cold eyes, before she sighed. It was not wise to make enemies here, especially with the most wanted villains of Gotham. She smiled at the beautiful woman, and she supposed it was not fake.

"Yes. And you are?" She inquired, sitting up a little straighter. She could feel the guards watching her warily and couldn't help the short, nasty quirk that appeared on her lips in return to the attention.

"Poison Ivy, but you may call me Pamela. It's my real name, after all." She laughed lightly, and Brianna was surprised at how beautiful the noise was, like bells on the wind. She gave Pamela a nice smile.

"You're very pretty, Pamela," she said shortly, as if it were a fact. The red haired woman looked shocked for a moment at the sudden comment, before her eyes narrowed. She smiled, none the less, but Brianna knew that she assumed she was some sort of lesbian. Now that she had a moment to think about it, she presumed that she was not. Brianna knew by the look in Pamela's eye, however, that she didn't mind attention from females, just as long as it was attention.

"Thank you, Brianna," she hummed, and placed her hand on the table. Brianna suddenly felt cold and discreetly slid her chair back slightly. Her sneakiness was of no avail, because Pamela noticed immediately, and unlike most, understood immediately. "You do not like being touched," she presumed, and Brianna gave her a look that confirmed her guess.

"It is more that I do not like to be touched without giving someone permission to touch me," Brianna said robotically. She used her bent fork to scoop some of her maybe-breakfast into her mouth.

"So, I assume that you are 'Bad Dog?" Pamela asked, changing the subject. She gave a sneaky smile, as if she knew something that no one else did. Brianna scowled and gave her a light glare.

"No, and do not assume so," she spat, and Pamela gave her a shocked look. She looked slightly hurt, and so Brianna changed the subject once more, to something she knew that both of them would be more comfortable with. "Could you explain to me why they put us in a separate room to eat our meals?" She raised an eyebrow at Pamela, and she suddenly looked less like an injured dog.

Brianna realized that she liked Pamela. She was nice, at least, and didn't seem particularly crazy. She didn't understand why she was in an asylum, at least. Brianna was in Arkham and she knew why; because clinically, mentally, and according to law she was considered diseased, but curable. She had what they liked to call 'multiple personality disorder' and 'schizophrenia.' She was no idiot; she knew what she took the medicine for. Perhaps she was not plagued in the same way that every other person in the world was, but the rest of the world would look at her the same way she looked at them if they knew.

"They put us in here because they believe that we will hurt the other patients," Pamela scoffed, leaning back in her chair. Brianna noticed that she had not yet taken a single bite of her breakfast. "Also, because the doctors think that we each need to visit with each other to learn to get along and be socially acceptable. You'll be eating with someone else for dinner, and I imagine, unless that person happens to break some rules, it will be the same cycle from here on out."

Brianna frowned. "Otherwise I simply sit in that cell?" Obviously, the thought did not appeal to her.

"Ah, no. I'm sure you'll be meeting with your doctor once or twice every week, and then we have recreational time—that one they attempt to mix the people up every once in a while. And group therapy, which is much like kindergarten." She suddenly got a strange, jealous look in her eyes. "You'll probably get some time in the garden, too, because you're new and haven't really broken any rules."

Brianna understood immediately; Pamela was not as human as the rest of them. She was rumored to have the surprising ability to speak with plants and have them carry out her every beck and call. Brianna was never sure whether that was really true, or if Pamela was simply a schizophrenic as she was, herself.

It was a strange feeling, after being so angry with so many people, that she would find one person that she actually enjoyed being around, even if it only lasted for the moment. Especially since Yuki had broken her trust in him over some blond bimbo.

"I-"

"Alright, time to head back," one of the guards barked. Brianna looked up at him, annoyed that he interrupted her, but didn't bother to actually finish her sentence. She realized with a vague annoyance that she had never touched her water, but when she looked at it again she realized that it was tinged red-brown with rust, just as the sink-water. She easily tossed it away, after that.

The guards had never removed her hand cuffs, but it had not hindered her eating abilities at all. They led her down the corridors before they allowed Pamela to leave, probably since she had been the second one in, and they made their way back to West Wing thoughtlessly.

Brianna was allowed back into her cell, thankful that they still did not feel the need to touch her in any way, and she watched them walk away right after they removed her hand-cuffs. Something out of the corner of her vision caught her eye—a strange glint of light that pricked her retina. She looked up, and found Crane staring at her, his glasses glinting sharply in the artificial light. She stared back for a moment at his piercing blue eyes, then decided that she wasn't particularly fond of this game and looked away to busy herself.

The day dragged on while she had nothing to do. She was beginning to wish that Emma was around, if only to amuse her by annoying the hell out of her. Her mind wandered plenty, usually going to thoughts of Kendall and Yuki and how they were probably in her office fucking each other's brain's out at that very moment.

The thought made her head ache, and she made herself think of other thing's before she began to act out. To calm herself, she thought of being in this place like being on vacation. She was simply here so that her mind could have a break. Eventually that thought was abandon, right about the time that the Joker began to cackle madly again.

After what appeared to be one million years later the recognizable guard came to her cell door and nodded to her. She was curious as to what was going on—perhaps it was time for lunch? He opened the door, and cuffed her hands together, then led her down the hall in the opposite direction from the last time. Several more hallways later, he arrived at a set of double doors that led straight into what must have been a greenhouse.

In this green house, Dr. Burton was waiting.

The only redeeming quality was the fact that he had lunch with him, and it wasn't whatever had been required for breakfast. Some white paper bag, one for him (that of which was considerably larger) and another for her. Brianna thought if she could perhaps begin to like her doctor for his small, selfless deeds.

"Brianna! It's good to see you. How is your first day going?" He asked pleasantly, patting the bench beside him, removing the white paper bags. As she had assumed, he handed one to her while she took her seat.

Still, she was bitter about the whole ordeal. It wasn't completely her doctors fault; there were several other people that had led her here, as well. Her eyes narrowed at the thoughts of Kendall, with her conniving eyes and her perfect fucking hair. There was no way that she was possibly real; she had to have been made of plastic. Of course, the size of her boobs would attest to that.

"It is going as you would expect," she said, narrowing her eyes. Prying open the bag, she peered inside. An apple, a sandwich, and a kid sized water-bottle, that of which she rolled her eyes at. She pulled the apple out, anyway, and took a healthy bite out of its rosy skin.

"And how is that?" He frowned, looking at her. She raised an eyebrow at him as she swallowed, a short, haughty smile painting her lips.

"Don't play psychiatrist with me; I'm not in the mood." Dr. Burton frowned a bit before forcing a smile on his face. Something about this girl reminded him too much of another of Arkham's patients. He just hoped that she wouldn't start reversing the conversation onto him, treating _him _as if he was crazy. He forced a smile on his face, however, not particularly urgent on upsetting his patient. He still had the notes from however long ago it had been, when she wasn't quite as far gone; when she wasn't _attacking _people, and claiming that her name was Emma.

If Emma wasn't so eerie, Dr. Burton might have liked her more than Brianna. She smiled, of course, but her smiles were always twisted while Brianna simply glared at him as if she resented his very existence. He didn't understand what would cause that sort of mental damage, this sort of disgust at every person she encountered, yet a tolerance for it.

She took another bite of her apple as Dr. Burton struggled to think of what to do next.

"But I _am_ your psychiatrist," Dr. Burton said, putting his elbows on his knees, watching her as she swallowed another bite of her fruit.

"You don't need to be," she snapped, her eyes flickering to his. Her glare was stoic, but ferocious in indescribable ways. It was obvious what she was getting at; she wanted to get out, to go home with her medicine and not come back ever. She saw that he knew, and her anger swelled.

"Yes, I do, Brianna," Dr. Burton sighed, squeezing his eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on. "It is my job to help you become a functioning civilian—because of your case, I can arrange to have you set free once your are better instead of being sent to Blackgate—"

"Yes, yes, I know," she mumbled, taking another bite of her apple. She made a face, suddenly, and parted her lips, reaching to her teeth. Dr. Burton rubbed his eyes tiredly as she pulled something from her mouth, and missed the shocked expression on her face.

Brianna stared down at the maggot that must have been in the apple. It wriggled disgustingly and she flinched, dropping it on the ground. Suddenly without appetite, she dropped the apple as well, stepping on the worm before it could wriggle away. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips against her mouth. _Shit, shit, shit. _She struggled to push the image from her mind.

"If you know so well, then allow me to _help you-_"

She pulled the water-bottle from the bag in an attempt to wash the bitter taste from her mouth, uncapping it and taking a drink. She swallowed before she looked down and realized that this bottle was filled with rusty, red-brown water as well. She coughed and sputtered, cutting off Dr. Burton's annoyance to look at her with wide eyes as she set down the bottle and tipped it over on accident, eyes screwed shut. Iron-filled water splashed against the cement and rocks below the bench, staining it red.

The water had been thick—or maybe, she thought it had been thick after she drank it. Brianna didn't want to think about it; she wanted to go back to her cell and maybe try to sleep, or distract herself with listening to the Joker giggle and taunt Pamela the way that he simply always did.

"I want to go back," she choked. Dr. Burton frowned, but nodded to the guard that had led her here. Without another word she stood, skirting around the guard and making her way back into the hallways. The guard followed her closely, and her doctor watched them.

Dr. Burton didn't know what he was going to do, how he was going to make her understand. He simply knew he had to, otherwise his gut told him that something bad would happen, that things would be out of his—or anyone else's—control.

* * *

_**A/U: These chapters in the asylum just drag ON and ON.**_

_**Anyway, is any one of my readers interested in **Slenderman_ _**at all? I was simply curious; if you are, then you may have watched (or sometimes read) one of or several of the mytho's (the stories made by other people) about a certain slender man. Some of my friends and myself are putting ourselves together and are going to try and tackle this humongou prject, that of which I have to sort of re-write at this point. :x **_

_ins0mniac - Honestly, I never really looked up any of these illnesses. At least, not recently. When I was younger I went through a phase where I was very interested in these kinds of things, which emant I read books like My Secret Garden (I don't remember the author, sadly) and asked my mother a ver LOT of questions about what it meant to be scitzophrenic and have multiple personality disorder and why did people mix them up all of the time?_

_Zeny - Nooot feeling so lucky any more. :x School starts in just over a week. I'm excited, of course, but it still kind of sucks that my summer is almost over. T.T_

**_Guest _**_- Don't worry, you do get to know more about her. :)_

_arielles - Your guess it right! :D_

_sgt pippa - T.T I'm happy a least one of us likes the Asylum. Honestly, much like poor Brianna, it's driving ME crazy, as well!_

**_I'm still having issues writting through this bit of block. Now, I'm stuck on chapter 13, and I still am hating this. It's not coming as smoothly any more, and I'm really hoping that this passes. . It's like a sickness._**


	11. Warm

_**He'll sit in a barn and keep himself warm**_

Brianna enjoyed the solitude of her cell. If she concentrated hard enough, she could even ignore the constant sound of crazy people complaining out in the hallways, or the guards telling them to 'shut the fuck up.' And, once she had done that, she could even almost imagine that Crane wasn't constantly staring at her back.

_Almost._

She figured he must have some kind of mental deficiency to find such a strange amusement in the fact that she was sitting down on her floor, cross-legged, with her back facing the Plexiglas that held her in. However, he relented.

The most frustrating part was that when she finally turned around to glare at him, he was always reading his damn book. She assumed that he would have been done with it by now, but apparently he was at the reading level of a toddler trying to digest a college level book. She rolled her eyes when he didn't even glance upwards in her direction, and turned around again, struggling to ignore his gaze as it scorched her back.

She was slowly becoming more used to Emma not being around in her mind, whispering to her things she could do. It made her less aggravated, and she was thankful for that. As she sat there, she found herself contemplating simple things. For example, her hate for her apartment. Who in their right mind would want to live in such a cramped space—especially with another person? She wondered if now, moving back in wouldn't be so bad. The thought made her wince; as far as she knew, she was never going to leave this goddamn place.

"Hey, get up! It's time for dinner." Brianna turned, finding a guard waiting for her at her door. He pulled it open and she walked over without any qualms, where he cuffed her and made to drag her off. She dodged out of the way, glaring at him for trying to touch her, and moved on ahead to show him that he didn't need to force her to move.

As she walked down the hallway, she rolled her eyes, mostly at herself. Had she really just been thinking about her _apartment_? And how goddamn cramped it was? Maybe she really _was _going crazy just by being in this forsaken place.

Once again, the guards made to type in their silly six digit codes and then wait for the buzzer and the door to unlock so they could herd her through. She felt a little mistreated. Since when had she become some cow that had to be led to her food every day?

She got her little tour of the high-school-esk dinning hall, where she got her little grey lumps of dinner—was that pudding? How thoughtful—and then she got to walk all the way back to the little two-person room where she would await for her dinner partner. Brianna set her tray down and poked the pudding with her spoon. She supposed it was supposed to be vanilla, but it looked a little yellow. It was much less viscous than pudding should be, and it smelled like sweat.

Prodding it again, she suddenly realized what it was and reeled back, disgust on her face. Surely that wasn't really… She clenched her eyes shut and forced the bile emerging in her throat back down. She couldn't even think about it—it was simply too disgusting. There was no way that the Asylum was actually serving_ that _of all things—bodily fluids would not be on the menu.

She breathed in through her mouth and out her nose, not wanting to take in the scent. Suddenly finding the food unappetizing she pushed the tray away from her. It wasn't the food; she knew that. It was _Brianna_. She felt dread weighing in her stomach at the thought.

In that same moment the doors were opened again and a lanky, brunette man was shoved into the room. That dread only changed from a cold stone to a cold boulder as she realized _exactly_ who her dinner partner was going to be from here on out.

The pale man grumbled, annoyed, and pushed his glasses back up his nose snootily. He straightened up, and Brianna noticed that he would be much, _much _taller than her even while she was sitting down. His legs were long and thin, and his arms the same. His fingers were perhaps the most disturbing—they were finger's that would find it easy to wrap around the entirety of someone's throat and strangle the life out of them. Spider-fingers, thief-fingers. She wondered if he had ever stolen anything, or if he played the piano. He certainly seemed the type. To play piano, that is.

He looked up and realized with a cold gaze exactly whom his dinner partner was, as well. He stood still for a single moment, catching a heady glimpse at his delightful new test subject. She stared back, her icy blue eyes hard and cold. He noticed that her hair was lighter than his, but ridiculously long, falling down her back in messy, tangled waves. She appeared as if she hadn't bathed herself in quite awhile, and if he got too close he knew she probably smelled like sweat and other unpleasant scents. She didn't appear to care—or even notice.

He took in the rest of her situation; her orange jumpsuit was zipped up a modest amount, completely covering her chest, and her sleeves were not rolled up as were most of the other patients around Arkham. The suit was completely unflattering, not as if she had anything worth seeing, judging by the part of her he _could _see. She had pushed her tray away from her, and sat with her hands in her lap.

The strangest thing, however, was the fact that she sat very tall. She was a short person, of course, but her presence was remarkable. Her shoulders sat back, and she looked on with a level gaze. She was completely confidant with herself, perhaps to the point of being overconfident. She was a narcissist, he reminded himself, recalling the notes Dr. Burton had taken on her. He found himself wanting to know more about her strange, out of place narcissism.

Jonathan took a seat across from her, and he sat straight as well. He would show her that he was a force to be reckoned with—and he smiled at her cruelly, thinking about how she had not even a single chance in this asylum, not while he was around.

Brianna was less than irritated. She supposed it had come as a shock to find that Crane was her dinner partner, but she wasn't mad or annoyed in any way. She didn't particularly care, in all honestly.

Something in her shifted, however. Emma was gone—much more gone than ever before. It was as if she had never existed at all, and Brianna wondered if she had perhaps imagined those black-outs and strange voices. It was odd to think of them—it seemed like it had happened a million years ago.

Brianna noticed, as well, that Crane was attractive up close. He smiled at her curtly in greeting as he took his seat, though his eyes stayed cold and calculating all the same. His lips were full, his teeth straight, his eyes round. The color was strange, and she realized this only when she was so close. They were so light, lighter than baby blue, perhaps a bit gray. She likened it to the sky on a cloudy day, when rain was threatened but would never come.

Attractive, but no attraction. She looked elsewhere, uncurious.

"Hello," he said politely. His voice was soft, but she sensed mal intent. "I'm Jonathan." Brianna's eyes slid back to him, and she raised an eyebrow slowly. She noticed a quirk in the corner of his lips, a twitch, and she understood that he was smirking. She didn't say anything for a moment, and Jonathan wondered, annoyed, if she was stupid.

"Brianna Clark," she said in return. She felt herself smile, but she did not really _feel _it. She wondered if she should even bother trying to be polite to others here. "I already know who you are."

"Do you?" He didn't look surprised; he looked cocky. Brianna's finger's tightened into a fist and she clenched her jaw. Something inside of her felt caged, and animalistic, dying to get out and swallow him in his idiocy. He was nothing, not compared to her. She was everything, should be at least, to scum like him.

Jonathan hadn't missed the switch in her attitude, and couldn't help the surprise that swam in his stomach. The way her blue eyes froze over and burned at the same time was astonishing and ancient; _wolfish_, almost.

"What brings you here, of all places?" Jonathan tried, giving her an amused smile to portray his joke. Still, her anger prevailed and he was immensely curious as to why. Where was this girl's fear? Didn't she know exactly who he was?

"That's none of your concern," she said simply. Jonathan quirked an eyebrow.

"Well you know why _I'm_ here. It's only fair that I should know why you're here, as well." If she was open before, she definitely wasn't anymore. He could see the doors to opportunity closing swiftly in his face.

"Life isn't fair, is it?" She was struggling to keep some sort of smile on her face, but it only served to make her look ferocious. _Like a puppy,_ Jonathan thought, bemused.

"Strange you would say that," he murmured, watching her with deft, calculating eyes. Brianna could feel that hot fury bubbling in her veins. The nerve of this man—to try and worm his way into her life and to interrogate her like some kind of disgusting _psychologist! _Her fists clenched, and she could feel her ragged nails biting into her palms. She had made it very clear that she didn't wish to tell him, yet he pestered her and studied her like a lab-rat. Brianna! A _rat! _It was laughable—inconceivable!

However, she bit her tongue and looked away from him, missing the slightly wicked up-tilt of his grin. She wondered desperately when she would be able to leave this room.

Jonathan was curious—she showed no fear toward him, as he would have expected anyone else to. He could feel the excitement and slight frustration of this new little experiment. He had made his decision the moment long before she had been led into her cell; this girl, this woman who stared without emotion at the Rogue's who filled the disgusting Batman's little gallery—this woman who looked on to stare at the most wanted and insane and terrifying criminals in all of Gotham's history—and probably the world—without a single ounce of fear making her pinky finger tremble was innately interesting.

Brianna Clark was a challenge that Crane was sure only he could take on. And take her on, he would: but first he would have to get closer to her, make her trust him. He had a plan; thing's were in store for her and she would just have to wait patiently for a little while until their game could begin.

Jonathan smiled warmly at her, attempting to look sheepish.

"I don't mean to pry." Oh, but of course he did! How else would he find out exactly what she was afraid of? The words caught her attention, however, just as he had known they would. She looked back up at him.

Her eyes drifted to his lips, and he immediately became curious of that action. What could have possibly gone through her head that made the weird look of disgust paint its way across her eyes? She made contact once more, and her icy gaze sliced straight through him. A sickly smile fell on her own lips, and she stood.

"Of course you didn't."

If Jonathan didn't know any better, he might think that she was trying to be _nice. _She turned and walked away, not bothering with her untouched food, and the guards glanced at her, then at the clock. They shrugged and led her out of the room, even though she had about a minute and a half left to eat.

While Jonathan waited to be escorted, he pondered what he had just witnessed. She would be his curious little puppet, though said to not fear anything. Thousands of idea's slid through his mind, most too quick to catch. He wondered how she would react to his toxin, how he could get her to feel comfortable around him, what she was afraid of, if it was possible to not fear anything.

He couldn't accept the last one. No, it _wasn't_ possible. Fear was something people were born with—human being's had a right to feel fear. It kept them alive, fed their instincts. There was no functioning on simply logic alone. Every human being had instincts, even the most solidified of their race.

The guards barked at him to stand and Jonathan rolled his eyes, giving them a sour look. He could hear them just fine without their yelling.

Brianna walked swiftly into her cell, rubbing her wrists now that the handcuffs were gone. She sighed, squeezing her eyes closed, and struggled to push away her frustration with this place. It was as if every single person here was some disease infested idiot, unable to understand where she came from and apparently all wanting to pry inside of her mind. She could hear Crane walking down the hall with his guards, but she didn't turn to look at him. She didn't dare.

Instead, she sat down on her uncomfortable cot and faced the wall, thinking. It seemed like that was all there was to do here. It was either think, or talk, and she wasn't particularly keen on the latter. Then the others would simply be inclined to make her talk more, and then where would she be? Everyone would bug her, and that of course included the Joker. If he decided that he couldn't resist harassing her she might just snap.

Brianna sighed, and buried her face in her hands, struggling to breathe through her fingers.

It suddenly hit her, like a weight falling from the white, blank ceiling on to her shoulders. When had this happened? When had she decided that everyone else in the world were stupid and careless and diseased?

This sudden bought of clarity shocked her. She didn't look around—that was dangerous. She didn't want to show other people that something had changed, even though it had. The anger that she had been feeling towards Crane seemed to be slowly spiraling down the drain, leaving her to wilt. She lay down on her bed, and stared up at the walls instead, wondering why she was so angry.

She recalled thinking once that fear and sadness were useless, but was that really it? She stared, confused. Where had this thought of everyone having The Disease come from? She blinked, thinking hard, trying desperately to figure out where it had originated. She thought back to several days ago, to a week ago, to a month ago. No, it was as if she had always thought this way. Well, not always—not unless she had been taking her medicine.

Brianna comforted herself with these few seconds of realization. If she could have a moment or two on her own like this, without that hate that plagued her, then maybe there would be moments like this in the future.

Then her mind came back to her, and she was disgusted by her vague idiocy.

* * *

_**A/N: I'm kind of dissappointed with my readers, to be honest. :/ Maybe it's just hormones talking. I don't know. I just don't look forward to updating anymore.**_

_**Anyway, sorry the update is late, whether I like doing it or not. I was gone on vacation all weekend and I just got back today. Also, thanks to all that reviewed, I really appreciate the feed-back. I like hearing that I'm doing such a good job writting this, but I need something a little deeper than that. I like hearing what I can improve on, so if you have anything to say about that, go crazy.**_


	12. Hide Himself

_**And hide himself under his wing, poor thing.**_

Brianna blinked awake earlier than anyone else in the Asylum. She knew this immediately when the lights didn't flicker on and the guards didn't start yelling out through the hallways for everyone to get their asses out of bed.

She closed her eyes and turned on to her side, trying to relax and go back to sleep. She couldn't, however. Her skin itched as if her clothes were sticking to her skin, and she grumbled to herself, tossing the scratchy grey blanket off of her and onto the floor. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and blinked the sleep from them.

She stared down at her blanket on the floor sleepily, sighing to herself. Her vision was still blurry, but she could swear she saw something… _moving. _She squinted, trying to see clearly, and then reeled back in disgust when a swarm of tiny black spiders scuttled out from beneath it. She squeezed her eyes shut, thrusting her back against the wall, and felt an unsettling feeling in her stomach that she hadn't felt in a long time.

Annoyed and disgusted, she forced herself to stare at them as they crawled underneath her bed and out of sight. She hopped onto the floor, sweeping her blanket to the side, and peered underneath the cot. They seemed to have vanished, though she swore she could see one crawling _underneath the damn wall._

Brianna glared, her nose scrunching, before standing up straight again. She could feel eyes on her, and she turned, staring across the dark hall into the cell opposite hers.

Jonathan was awake as well, it seemed, and he was watching her with his piercing eyes. She could barely see him—the only reason he was visible was because of the very soft morning light that filtered through the single window he had in his room. Brianna had a feeling that he was the only prisoner… er, _patient_ in the entire asylum that had the innate pleasure to see the outside world. He stood, a silhouette against the light, and in a perverted oxymoron he seemed almost angelic.

He turned slightly, and the light glinted off his silver glasses, no longer staring at her and shattering the illusion.

Brianna turned around, taking a deep breath, and realized that she had to use to toilet (and not for the first time), something that she was very much dreading. She could feel the blush on her cheeks at having others—or, really, one other—being uncomfortably aware of her business. She had been holding it in for much too long and her stomach ached.

Her toilet was filled with rusty red water, and it reeked of iron. She held her breath, black dots drowning her vision as she saw it. Her eye lids fluttered slightly and she took a step back, pressing her palms against the walls on either side of her to hold herself steady. Uncomfortably, she glanced back at the camera that would be keeping track of her while she used the toilet, and almost vomited right into the bowl, the mix of everything coming together too tightly.

Her bladder ached, however, so she was quick to just get it over with.

It burned, and there was less waste to dispel then she thought there would be. She finished as quickly as possible, and flushed, fast to go wash her hands. Red water spat from the faucet, staining the sink, and she whined in anguish. What was wrong with this place—why was the water so disgusting? She sighed, and trying to remind herself that it probably wasn't this place, that it was just her mind, she dunked her hands under the water.

When she finished and pulled away, the smell of iron seemed to have flooded the room. Miserably, she moved as far away from the faucet as possible, the red dripping from her finger-tips.

It was the thirteenth, she noted. A Saturday, and already she knew that there would be less doctors on staff. It was the weekend, and only the ones who had no social life or had scheduled one of their interrogations for the day stayed. Even then, they only stayed for a short while until they got bored and went home.

Brianna found herself rolling her eyes at that thought. Even she worked on the weekends, though she didn't have to. Of course, her job was a bit different and perhaps less physically taxing than having to occasionally hold down insane patients, and mentally drowning in the sense that they had to try and cure people who didn't think they needed to be cured.

The brunette woman sighed once more, sitting down on the floor as far away from everything else in the room. She didn't want to run into the spiders, or have her nose fall off from the incredibly noxious smell of iron emitting from her toilet and her sink. Instead, she faced the hallway this time, watching the other people trapped in their cages.

The Joker was asleep, bet he kept tossing and turning, giggling like some sort of idiot and probably having some creepy dream. Brianna winced away from that, her eyes drifting past Crane's cell purposefully. On the other side of him, a burly brunette man slept, scars riddling his bare shoulders. Brianna was uninterested, and turned away.

"Brianna?"

Said woman jumped slightly and blinked, confused for a moment before she realized someone had called her name.

"Brianna, are you awake?"

It was Pamela. She contemplated answering, or feigning sleep. Just the night before she had been thinking about what a bad idea it was to be talking. She slipped in another glance at Joker, her biggest threat, and sighed, deciding that it couldn't hurt too much to talk to someone. Least of all Pamela.

"Yes, I am," she replied, calling just loud enough for Pamela to hear. Decisively she walked to the left wall (that was as such when facing the hallway from inside Brianna's cell) and sat down, facing the corner. She stayed near one of the holes, however, so that she could get her voice out of her cell.

Pamela was silent then, as if she wasn't quite sure why she had asked the question in the first place. Brianna wasn't so annoyed—it comforted her in a strange way to know that she wasn't completely surrounded by enemies. Suddenly curious and feeling that loneliness beginning to creep in again, she wracked her mind for a question to ask.

"Who's that man in the cell two down from the Joker?" Brianna asked suddenly. She refused to mention Crane, and got a slight satisfaction from seeing his icy gaze sliding towards her in annoyance at her childishness.

"Uhm…" Brianna could hear a scuffling, and assumed Pamela was coming closer so she could look down the hall. With the angles and all, it would be hard to see very far down the hallway. Brianna could barely see the cell on the other-side of the mystery man, and wouldn't be able to see the person in that cell unless they were on the far side of their tiny living space. "Oh, that's Deathstroke. People say he's the best assassin in the business," she replied, though she didn't appear to believe her own words. "Not like I believe them—he's just another lying, stealing, cheating man if you ask me," she mumbled crossly.

Brianna couldn't help the small smile that danced hesitantly across her lips. Something about Pamela just amused her to no end.

"Aren't they all?" Brianna asked, and her thoughts immediately went to Yuki. Furious, she stood and clenched her hands into fists. Before Pamela could ask, the light's snapped on, immediately filling the hall with a crisp buzzing and making Brianna's eyes burn. She slapped her hand over them, cursing in annoyance underneath the sound of the guards calling out for everyone to wake up.

She sat down afterwards, spitting out swear-words angrily underneath her breath. By the time her two guards came to escort her to breakfast she had quieted, but she still glared at them if they specifically had offended her.

"That Joker—fucking moron-" Brianna looked up, surprised as Pamela stormed into their small two-person room, tray in hand, cursing wildly. Her hair was messy around her face and her cheek's were flushed. She turned her hard, green glare on Brianna, slamming her tray down on the table but not sitting down in front of it. The brunette winced as the green slime on her tray hopped and wiggled.

"I could easily agree without knowing what happened, but I'm curious," Brianna said quietly, smirking in amusement as Pamela paced, furious. The red-headed woman whirled on Brianna, her eyes wild with anger, though it wasn't directed at Brianna's teasing smile.

"He thinks he's some kind of hot-shot! Well let me tell you; he doesn't own this city!" Pamela barked, laughing without humor. Brianna nodded in agreement, but didn't voice her thoughts.

_Even if he did, he won't for long._

"Honestly, he can't even leave me alone for three seconds." She turned again, practically burning a hole in the floor with her anger. "Last night—oh-_ho,_ last night you wouldn't _believe _what that clown-bastard did."

"Try me," Brianna said smoothly, picking up what she hoped was a celery-stick, though it was slightly black, of all colors. Her stomach ached from not eating for so long and her disgust was no match for her hunger. Pamela didn't seem to hear her—she imagined that if she hadn't said anything she would continue, either way.

"We have to eat dinner together—fucking doctors, thinking they're smart—Ha! If they were smart, they would wrap that idiot in duct tape and send him into the sewers to be the crocodile's dinner." Pamela's eyes rolled as she paced, throwing her hands up for emphasis. "Anyway," she spat, "he went on and on about how I was some 'fine piece of ass,' like that idiot even has a clue. And reducing me to some demeaning body-part like that—I mean, _really?_" Pamela barked, spinning on Brianna and slamming her hands on the table, making her water slop around. Brianna snapped another bite of her celery, trying to ignore the red in the bottle and look at Pamela instead. "I mean," she said, her voice still angry but controlled as she sat down, "why can't men be more like women—and not in the gay way," she grumbled.

"You would be the perfect man, Brianna," Pamela sighed, running her hand through her hair, but not looking at her now. Instead she glared at the wall, like she was seeing something very far away. Then her eyes flickered back to her. "Women—they look each other in the eyes when they talk to each other, and they actually listen instead of being so incredibly intent on each other's _body-parts_, of all things! Why is it always what's on the outside…?" Pamela sighed, setting her elbow on the table and shoving her chin into her hand.

Brianna coolly raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking ironically.

"Human-being's are disgusting," she said simply, shrugging and dropping her burnt celery into her tray. How the _hell _do you burn celery, of all _fucking _things? "They are diseased—but it isn't their fault." Brianna sighed as well, awkwardly crossing her thin legs on her chair, pretzel style. "There is no way to escape them—there are too many. You can only deal with them any way you can."

Pamela looked up at Brianna from the table, her eyes vacant of the anger that had previously been there. Now there was something else—something that the brunette wasn't sure she recognized. Was that… _compassion?_ She shivered and ducked her head, narrowing her eyes to glare at her hands in her lap and tightening her lips into a taught line.

She simply wasn't quite sure how to react.

In a strange sense, she hadn't felt any sort of compassion—received, or given—in a very long time. Sure, there had been Yuki, but lust wasn't compassion. Previous boyfriends as well, all who bored her after just a few days, maybe weeks if they were lucky.

"I guess you're right, sweet-pea," Pamela mumbled. Brianna looked up, raising an eyebrow at the nick-name but was ignored. Suddenly, the red-haired woman seemed to realize something. "Wait, 'human-being's?' Who scorned you?" She laughed slightly, her good mood seeming to be back.

Brianna stared at her for a moment, her gaze turning icy.

Pamela stared back, and the straightened up. She felt a shiver going down her spine as she saw the cold anger that seemed to ice the shorter brunette's veins. The red-haired woman wasn't sure she had ever seen someone look so furious before. And here, with the dirt on her cheeks and her brown hair wild around her head, matted and tangled, she looked like some sort of feral creature. If Pamela hadn't known any better, she would have sworn she saw two neat rows of sharp teeth when Brianna gave her a slow, fake smile that was more unsettling than calming. There was a dangerous intent behind her expression, something both matching and unmatchable in comparison to the other Rogue's of Gotham.

"No one at all," she muttered icily, and Pamela dropped the subject.

They continued in a slower sense of conversation, until Brianna was escorted from the room and back to her cell.

The hours passed slowly. Her lunch was delivered to her, but she could swear that she saw bug's crawling around in it. She turned away from it then, disgusted, but still incredibly hungry. She was wasting away at this point, though she refused to eat this hideous place's food.

Eventually, dinner came around, and she didn't realize it was something that she dreaded until it came time to go. She glanced across the hall to watch Jonathan get dragged away first, giving her about a minute extra for her own time. In those moments she steeled herself, ready to face the bastard psychologist.

As she passed, she noticed that Pamela looked up to watch her, and gave her a quick smile and a wave as she went. Then she went back to tending to a potted plant she had in her cell that seemed to be flourishing, even under the false lighting. Brianna didn't give her a second glance.

Jonathan was waiting for her in their dinner room, the same one as the breakfast room. Brianna sat down across from him without a word, feeling his eyes on her as she slid easily into the silence. She glared down at her food longingly, wondering if it really tasted as bad as it looked.

"It doesn't taste as bad as it looks."

Brianna blinked, her eyes flickering up towards Crane, but not tilting her head upwards to fully accommodate him. He was giving her a smile, but she couldn't believe that it was real in any way. How did he know what she was thinking?

"I just wanted to apologize for yesterday," Crane said after Brianna refused to respond. She continued to stare at him, but finally faced him properly, raising an eyebrow. He took this as permission to continue. "I didn't mean to pry on your personal life—I was just curious."

Brianna's lips quirked in a humorless smile. Suddenly, however, his expression changed in a way she couldn't quite recognize.

"I would like to be friends, however," he said simply, his voice pleasant. Brianna had to admit; he was good. Incredibly so, but Brianna, despite her hate, saw through people. He was up to something, but she wasn't quite sure what it was. She couldn't believe that someone like him had any good intent towards anything. Not Jonathan Crane—not the Scarecrow.

She contemplated simply telling him off, that she knew. But she felt like he would just think up something else to try and pry. If she just let him get on with it, she would be able to figure out what he was up to. She gave him a wry smile, and shrugged, poking at her food.

"Sure—whatever."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, an angry frown etched on his lips. Why was she suddenly acting like some sort of angry teenager? He didn't understand this woman in the slightest.

However, she didn't seem suspicious of his intentions. He watched her carefully, sorting through his plans. He had so much in store for her, so many ideas. He fidgeted slightly; excited just by imagining the way she would shriek and writhe in ways that some thought weren't even possible. He would prove that he was much more competent than any of those damn doctors in this place.

Brianna's eyes lifted, seeing him squirming slightly, and wondered if he was mentally deranged. He blinked, and suddenly felt very hot underneath the collar being caught so excited. Jonathan looked away, coughing, and his eyes narrowed as he felt her gaze on him. Suddenly, she became very annoying and at fault.

"Do you need to use the restroom or something?" She grumbled, poking once again at her food. Jonathan's eyes widened in mortification, then narrowed furiously.

"Excuse me?" He growled, glaring at her with contempt. She peered up at him through her eye lashes, and he wondered if she was trying to be endearing. She was too… _unwashed _to appear attractive in any way.

"You are excused." She was very articulate, her words chosen as if she had planned this conversation hours ago and knew exactly what he was going to say. There was absolutely no hesitation, and he couldn't help but admire that underneath his anger at her cocky attitude.

Jonathan ground his teeth together, his eyes freezing over and he struggled to not bite back some sort of harsh remark. He needed to be on her good side, he reminded himself. His jaw relaxed the moment he imagined her screaming in terror.

_All in good time, _that dark voice murmured.

He laughed then, and it was painfully fake. Jonathan struggled to remember the last time he had laughed. He _couldn't _remember the last time he laughed because he actually found something amusing. This world had long since lost his attention in that sense—actually, he wasn't sure it _ever_ had his attention.

"No need to be snarky." He couldn't help the bite that came with the words—more anger had come with it that he meant. He inwardly cursed himself for his lack of self control.

She stared at him, her eyes an iceberg. Ninety percent of what she was lay waiting, below the surface of this complex wall she had put up at some point in her life. Being in the asylum had just reinforced it. Jonathan quickly reminded himself that if she had to reinforce some of it, she also had to take away from other parts.

"I suppose I could say the same to you, doctor."

The way she spoke suddenly sent a sharp thrill down his spine. _Doctor. _For all that was horrible in the world, she was going to fall into a madness so deep she would drown in it, and this thought gave him a strange strength. It aroused him in every possible way, his adrenalin filling his veins and making his fingers shake. He quickly hid them below the table, and her eyes flickered momentarily to catch the reaction. He could see in her eyes that she wasn't quite sure how to take it.

Yes, he was her _doctor_. He would 'cure' her, so to speak, of this lie that she lived where the other incompetent fools thought she could not fear. He would show her what fear was, and she would thank him, in the end. Jonathan had convinced himself of that.

"I suppose you could, Miss Clark." She flinched.

'Twas only a crack in the ice.

* * *

_**A/U: I'm a little embarassed about what I said last week. :x I'm very sorry about trying to guilt you guy's into reviewing for me. However, it raised some interesting points that I will be glad to talk about. **_

_Raziri123 - **I didn't particularily do this as per request until the next chapter, but here you go! This chapter has some good dialogue, too, I think. :) I expect for this story to have a bit more dialogue from here on out, due to more interaction between Brianna and Jonathan in particular. **_

_**Also, I really do appreciate your view on the point-of-view decision's I make in my story. :x I tend to lean towards a more 'third-person-omniscient' point of view, which I'm sure, as you know, is where I will write with all 'she's and 'he's and use no 'I's or 'we's at all, unless in dialogue. Also, omniscient is where the narrator knows more than the characters. While I tend to limit myself in some aspects for the readers sake, so I'm not dropping everything on you all at once and keeping some mystery in my story.**_

_**I appologize, but it's something I don't plan to change to accomodate you, despite how I would like to try and keep you happy and to enjoy this as much as possible. I do appreciate the crtisism, though. :)**_

_ZenyZootSuit - **I like your name! :) I feel like I forced you to write a comment, which is something you most definatly don't have to do. D: Thank you so much, though. I appreciate it. :)**_

_auriellis - **I didn't particularily mean to guilt my readers. :x I was simply going through a bit of a bad time last week and so it came out in my note. Also, the writting for myself-I believe, as a personal oppinion that may be purely my own, that I will never be able to simply do this. My goal in life is to become a novelist. When writting, it's the author's job to pull together a brilliant world that someone else could enjoy-a place and characters that make others cry and laugh and be completely and totally involved in the story. I want, oh so badly, for my readers to be involved. While I'm not quite a novelist yet (XD) I still like to practice that idea here in fan-fiction. On that note, I will do everything that I can to get constructive crtisism-and therefore make my readers happy (or sad or angry or jealous or distraught or... well, you get the idea.)**_

_Guest - **Oh thank goodness, I actually have readers! D': (XD) Actually, you're the first to give me this kind of review. :) Ah, the sickness. As I've said before, I don't even know what she's thinking half of the time. I've sort of lost myself in a confusion about how I want her to view the world. Don't get me wrong-I know exactly why she does! What happened and when and how, which will be greatly revealed- wait. Well, you'll see. ;) This most confusing to me is why she views people as Diseased, as I've said before. I think I have a bit of an idea of what I'm going for, and I've hinted at this, but she'll be cornered eventually and perhaps that will be where we find out exactly what she thinks of all of us. XD**_

_corbsxx - **Done and done! :D**_

_**One more note.**_

_**You may have noticed that I changed the rating. Originally, there were going to be sort of excplicite scene's in this story towards the end, but I have some new plans. Seeing as how nothing has been really very bad yet, I notched it down to a 'T' rating, instead. If you think that I need to change it back due to one thing or another, notify me, and I will go back and read whatever you think it is and decide if it really is bad enough that the writting either needs to be changed, the rating does, or if I can leave it as is.**_


	13. Clarity

_**Brianna,**_

_**It has been a long time since I've seen you.**_

_**I don't know exactly what to say to you, or how to say it, but I suppose I should apologize for everything I have done. There is no forgiving what has happened and what I did to you, but I'm still so sorry, Brianna. I love you—I have always loved you. I know you don't want to believe that, because I have never shown my love for you. I have never proven it—I've done quite the opposite, actually. I'm so sorry.**_

_**Don't think I hate you. I've never hated you, but I can understand if you hate me. I've tortured you, and abused you, and I realize that now. I'm tortured, too, every day that you don't come to see me, and tell me about your life. Do you have a husband, my little duck? Do you have children? You don't have to bring them to me, if you do. This is a horrible place, and it is most certainly not for a child. But please, oh please, little duck. Send me pictures of my grandchildren. I wish to see them before**_

_**Well, before I die.**_

_**I have been sentenced—you know this already. But my time is coming. I only can warn you of more torture that I have left behind in my wake for you. I'm so sorry, Brianna, and I love you so much.**_

_**There are people who want something from me. Right now, there are little means of getting the information from me, with security being so tight here, but they will come after you, too. Maybe they already have. Hopefully, they are only watching and waiting for something to happen, for orders, most likely. However, as soon as I die, there will be no other options for you. You must RUN, Brianna. You must get out of this damn hell-hole and escape.**_

_**I already know that you won't understand any of this, but a friend of yours will. You won't like it, but it is your only option.**_

_**Remember, I love you, my duck, my little Bri. Everything that I have done to you is inexcusable. I have come to terms that I will be going to Hell. This letter should reach you before I die. Don't come to visit me, even then.**_

_**Nevermind. I know that you won't, anyway. I have done the most horrible thing to you that there ever was; I have realized this. I have taken away your ability to love, to ever trust anyone. Especially me. **_

_**Do you remember that little doll I got you when you were five? That bunny with the strings attached to its arms. I remember it. You loved that thing, used to drag it with you everywhere. I put it in your room after you left. So, if you want it back, it's there waiting for you. I'm sorry I ever took it away from you—you cried and cried. It was wrong of me, and I'm so sorry that I upset you the way I did.**_

_**I'm so sorry, Brianna. I love you so much. I can't stress that enough.**_

_**I wish I could say it to you personally before I die. I love you. I have always loved you—you are my baby girl, my daughter, and there is nothing stronger between people then a bond between father and daughter. We have a strong bond, in a sick, twisted way. A bond you can never enjoy, my baby duck.**_

_**Love,**_

_**Dad**_

When Brianna woke up, it was because there was a guard at her cell door, yelling at her to awaken. She was snapped out of her daze ungracefully, blinking rapidly in confusion at her surroundings. There was white everywhere, and she was unnerved, before she remembered that she was in this horrible, insane place.

Slowly she sat up, ignoring the guards as they screamed for her to get up and come to the door. They seemed angry, really angry, but she had become much too used to people talking and her not listening to their constant babble. She placed her elbows on her knees and rubbed at her eyes sleepily, running a hand through her hair and getting caught short by the tangles that had long since formed.

"Get up! Someone, go in there and get the fuckin' bitch!"

Brianna's eyes flickered upwards and she rolled them, finally standing and stretching leisurely. She walked to the door, unwitting to their needs. The guard glared at her, pulling the door open while she held out her hands to them and they slapped cuffs onto them. The guard grabbed her wrist and she winced, her teeth snapping together and she clenched hard. She didn't _dare _wrench away, however. She told herself to _behave, behave, behave._

They were taking her in a different direction, yelling things to each other. It wasn't as if she couldn't understand them—it was more that she wouldn't. She refused to listen to them; she had come to the conclusion over night that all of the guards here were complete and utter morons.

Strangely enough, they led her to an even whiter wing of the asylum. It smelled a little less like antiseptic and piss, at least. A nurse was waiting for her, and Brianna realized suddenly that this was the same nurse as before. Her platinum blond hair was tied up tightly in a bun, and her eyes were wide. She wore a lot of make-up, and yet something about her seemed incredibly familiar.

Brianna narrowed her eyes, staring at the woman warily. She reminded her of Kendal.

But it wasn't Kendal. It couldn't be Kendal, because that was just the most ridiculous idea ever. No, it definitely wasn't Kendal—Kendal's face was sharper than that, and her nose was smaller in comparison. Her skin probably didn't peal like that, either. She was too busy on keeping up her appearance.

Even if it wasn't Kendal, the thought of that fucking slut made Brianna seethe with rage. They babbled about something, and then she was dragged along once more by the guards to a tiled room with faucets high up on the walls.

Not-Kendal smiled, her teeth obnoxiously white, even in comparison to this new whiter wing of the asylum. The guards left, watching her wearily and one of them murmured something to the nurse, as if telling her that if she needed any help to just call them, but she looked at them with hard eyes and a tight smile and told them to go.

Brianna walked wearily onto the tiled floor, but Not-Kendal 'tut'ed, her teeth snapping together like a crocodile. That made Brianna think of the sewers, and she stared at the holes in the floor that were beginning to grow larger. She waited for the giant green beasts to crawl out of the holes and devour her, and if not her then at least the Not-Kendal.

There were no crocodiles.

Brianna was stripped of her clothes, and she stood naked before Not-Kendal who was abashed by her when she did not care. All Brianna heard was a shrill ringing in her ears that had arrived shortly after she left her cell, but the clarity was coming back thickly in waves. She had a moment to realized that Not-Kendal was looking away to give her privacy, and she turned on the faucets.

Red, rusty water splattered from them and rained down on her and everything was foggy and she took a breath, a too-deep breath that made her gasp and cough and filled her mouth with the liquid that sure-as-hell wasn't water. She threw her hands up to block herself, but it was filling the bathroom too quickly. She could feel it pooling around her ankles and holding her in place as it rose and rose until it engulfed her, and she was in an ocean of the stuff, struggling to swim, trying so hard to swim upwards but there was no up, only down here, and down, down, down she went until she touched the bottom, dragged through the swirling drain and into the sewers where the crocodiles swam in _blood, _and that's what it all was, wasn't it, blood; blood that was living and dragged whomever it wished deep into its depth's to drown their gurgling underneath where breathe and breath over washing throat sore under wolves teeth blood searing frozen needles broken under killing flesh—

Brianna's eyes opened, and she sucked in a slow breath of air. She was sitting in her cell, her hair washed and feeling clean and dressed. Barbie Nurse gave her an easy smile as she closed the cell doors.

"No problems, I hope?" One of the guards laughed.

Brianna laughed back, and it was hollow and cold, and just loud enough that they heard it. The guards silenced, and Barbie Nurse gave her a weary look before clicking down the hallway on her sky-scraper heels.

The Joker laughed in response, too, but his laugh was long and drawn out. It was excessive and Brianna rolled her eyes in annoyance. Her throat felt sore, though she knew that she hadn't really been drowning. Now that the clarity was back, fresh and cold, she could self-diagnose her insanity.

"Brianna?"

Her eyes flickered upwards, though she knew she wouldn't be able to see Pamela through the wall. For now, everything was clean and not covered in blood, but she was sure if she turned on any faucets it would overflow and spill on the floor and drown her again.

"Yes," she responded, moving towards the Plexiglas wall.

"Are you… alright?" Her voice was hesitant and confused, but not scared. Brianna frowned a small bit.

"Of course-"

"Liar."

Brianna's eyes widened and her heart stopped for one moment before she stood, swiftly, and turned around, taking a deep breath and glaring into her own cell behind her. She wasn't there—Emma was nowhere to be found, but she had _heard _her, hadn't she?

"Alright—er, ok. I was just making sure, because when they brought you back you were smi—acting kind of strange."

Brianna realized very suddenly that she had blacked out just moments before. Did that mean that Emma was back? But she couldn't see her, standing among her cell, that of which had apparently just begun to grown grass. She stared, her eyes unbelieving but also accepting in a strange way at the new green carpet that she had been granted. Brianna sat on her knees, staring at it in a strange horrified interest. She pressed her hand down on the ground, threading her fingers through the blades and catching some until they broke from the cement beneath them and she could catch them in her hand.

She held them up to her face and stared at them for a moment, before sighing and dropping them.

When she turned Jonathan Crane was staring at her with a scientific expression on his face.

For the first time in a long time, fear hit her like lightning. Had she been standing, she would have fallen, her blood rushing to her head so fast that she couldn't see anything around her. Blackness drank in all of the features of her life and she inhaled sharply in surprise as the sound was sucked out of her ears, as if she had been catapulted out of the atmosphere.

Then… there was clarity.

* * *

_**A/N: Hey, guys! I'm very sorry to say that a short HIATUS starts today. D: I know! It's so sad! It's just, I have work which is killing me right now, and one-act auditions for school that I'm hoping to be in. So there will not be another chapter next Sunday. If all goes well, then one will appear in two weeks. :) **_

_ZenyZootSuit **- You're welcome! And I'm glad you don't feel forced. Phew! Thinking about arguments between Pamela and the Joker, I'm thinking something like a weird one-sided romance between the two. But it's only an idea right now. If it works well into the whole plot I have planned, and everything... I don't know. Just something for you to think about, if you have any ideas.**_

_Raziri123 **- I'm so happy I didn't make you angry! :D And I really do love the feed-back. I want to write for my readers! So, read on, and hopefully continue to enjoy? :)**_

_UrieNanashi **- The Joker will be around for a while yet, I assure you. One more big interaction between him and Brianna is in the works. But, that may be giving away too much information...**_

_**This chapter brings up some new points that none of you know about yet. Brianna's father! Where is he? Why is he so sorry? How has he contributed-if he even HAS contributed? What does clarity mean? Who's looking for him? Well, hopefully you'll find out eventually, right? Hee hee!**_

_**It's silly that I have to continue to remind myself what I plan on doing in the future of this story. Holy cats! Time to be done! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you all in two weeks. :)**_


	14. One Bright Day

_**One bright day in the middle of the night**_

Jonathan Crane, as a psychiatrist, noticed many things when it came to watching other human beings. For example, he noticed when Brianna reached onto the floor of her cell and appeared to be pulling at something non-existent, and when she suddenly turned around and her eyes widened in such a surprised way. He had not yet seen this expression on her face. Then, with a shock of excitement drilling through him so hard it almost hurt his heart to feel it pounding into his ribs, she stared with pure terror.

He knew fear when he saw it. He was accustomed to it quite enough in his line of work. Or, rather, hobbies, to say correctly. He wasn't particularly paid for what he did, not any longer, anyway. If it wasn't for that damn Rachel Dawes he would still be doing what he did best, but she was dead, last he heard. Blown to bits by the Joker. The lucky bastard.

He had watched as she was dragged back from the showers, he presumed, kicking at the guards in a way that was very unlike her, not quite grinning, but not quite holding her straight expression as she had before so often. She was not easily phased.

However, Jonathan believed he had found out exactly why she was locked up in Arkham, seeing as she had managed to kick one of the guards straight in the face, earning her several swear words. They were generally nicer to the female prisoners, but it appeared as though they deemed her enough of a threat to toss the 'worst of the worst' at her as they shoved her unceremoniously into her cell.

She hadn't turned to them and started screaming, but as the fear faded from her eyes and a slow smile over took her features, her harshly blue eyes connecting in a deadly way with Crane's, he had a feeling she was about to.

"Oh, ickle Jonathan Crane," she called quietly. Jonathan's eyes flickered, catching the surprised look of Pamela. She stood from her bed, that of which she had been laying on, and crept up to the front of her cell, pressing her slender finger-tips against the glass. Jonathan knew that these two talked often—he listened in enough, being curious of the ever strange Brianna Clark.

"Brianna?" Poison Ivy called, a frown falling on her plump, red mouth. She bit her lip, something most men would have found immensely attractive. Jonathan Crane could only find it annoying.

"Wandered out into the rain," Brianna continued, and Jonathan realized she was rhyming as she sang in a familiar rhythm. He frowned, narrowing his eyes slightly. He itched to push his glasses up his nose, but he refused to do so, knowing that it would be a sign of fear in her eyes. He would not allow that, not when she was becoming so intriguing. "Don't you like bed time stories?" She suddenly asked, noticing his frown.

This was not Brianna Clark, not in the slightest. Realization must have flashed across his face, because she smiled even wider, her eyes growing darker.

"Be quiet in there!"

Not-Brianna jumped as a guard yelled down the hallway, incredibly skittish. She stood up straight harshly and began to pace, biting her nails nervously. It was such a sudden change in actions that Jonathan wasn't sure she had switched into another personality.

It appeared as if she had this disorder, now that he noticed. He assumed she had multiple personality disorder, but which was the dominant personality, he wondered. Mostly because he was quite enjoying the fearful jumpiness of this little cat at the moment.

This went on for a while. Jonathan realized he couldn't take his eyes off of her, and Brianna's jumpiness made Pamela nervous, as well. The Joker had been gone for some meeting with his doctor, but when he came back and noticed little Brianna not being so Brianna-like he got a bit excited and tried to make her talk to him. He had nothing on her, however, nothing to make her respond, and she refused to do so. Something was on her mind.

"Ah, Ms. Clark?"

Jonathan looked up. Her normal nurse had come back, the strangely blond one that didn't appear as if she belonged. He had known she was new, but she seemed only to cater to Brianna's needs. A strange little fact, indeed. Alas, when her name was called, Brianna didn't look up. The nurse repeated it several times, before growing frustrated and calling out to her violently.

Brianna's head snapped in her direction, and a cruel smile grew on her face. Were Jonathan a normal citizen of Gotham, he was sure that this smile would have sent chills down his spine. The nurse appeared unaffected, however, as Brianna lurched towards the Plexiglas, pressing her hands against it immediately before the nurse, then pressing her face against it in a childish way that made Jonathan wince and turn back to the torn novel he was offered, that of which he had pretended to read through several times now.

"The names Emma, you wench. Emma Wolfe, if you'd please."

Emma Wolfe. Curious.

The Joker cackled. Jonathan narrowed his eyes, and he felt a smile itching at the corners of his lips. So he was correct. Either this, or she was an incredibly good actor, which just didn't seem to be like her in the slightest. Then again, if she was simply a good actor, then that would be just what she would like him to think.

"I apologize. Emma, Dr. Burton is waiting to see you."

_Emma _smiled and pulled away from the Plexiglas, waiting for the guards to come and take her away. They were cautious, telling her to turn around, place her hands out towards the door. They cuffed her, and practically carried her away between the two of them, the nurse leading the way, her high heels click-clacking against the tiles floor.

Murmurs echoed down the hallways, curious inmates peering out of their clear and white cages, wondering why an inmate was leaving to visit a doctor past dinner time. Much like in high school rumors would spread, people would gossip.

When she returned, it was time for lights out, several minutes late at that. She appeared quite smug with herself.

The next day, she did not wake up early as she normally did. She didn't even wake up when the lights came on. It took a guard to come and wake her for breakfast, and even then he had to yell a couple times, thoroughly annoying Jonathan and several other inmates. Pamela was pulled out after her, and Jonathan was left to be dragged to breakfast with the Joker, his least favorite meal partner.

"So, ah, I see you're just as… _interested _in our new little, uh—_inmate_ as I am." The Joker licked his lips obnoxiously, shoving the noxious food into his mouth as if it was his last meal on earth. Jonathan was thinking it might very well be, if this conversation went on much longer.

"I'm simply curious, is all," he grumbled, trying to ignore the Joker's disgusting smell. He was feeling less and less of his appetite at this point, and desperately wished that the damn idiot would just bathe, for once.

"She's quite the, ah, pretty little _crazy_," the Joker scoffed, almost choking on his grey pancakes. Jonathan rolled his eyes, his glasses reflecting the harsh light of the small eating room. He didn't understand why Arkham decided to try this ridiculous little… experiment. It just wasted more money on their part, and it wasn't like they were preventing fights from breaking out. More than likely, they were instigating them. He wondered how long it would be until their little system came crashing down and they went back to shoving everyone in a cafeteria.

"Ya know," the Joker spat, little chunks of grey matter landing on the table, stabbing his fork at Jonathan. "I think she _likes—you, _Johnny-boy." He cackled, his face close to splitting in half as he threw back his head. Jonathan reeled back in disgust, wishing he could simply spray the Joker in the face and be done with him. His fingers twitched, but there was nothing for him to touch.

He wanted out of this damn asylum. It was driving him insane.

How ironic.

Between breakfast and lunch Emma was called away once again, this time going with a small smile on her face and her head bowed. Jonathan had to eat with some nameless red-headed man for lunch, someone who thought themselves too intelligent to look at him, instead taking his time scribbling question marks on to napkins that he stole from the lunch room. Jonathan didn't mind. At least the idiot didn't talk to him.

By the time dinner came, he was giddy, a feeling he didn't often have. The hairs on his arms were standing on end, and he simply wanted to taste her fear on his tongue for the first time. He wanted to find out what had happened, why Brianna was no longer Brianna.

However, as he was pulled into the miniscule room to eat his dinner by the guards, Doctor Burton was waiting for him. He sent his previous college a glare as he was forced to sit down much too roughly by the callous, meat headed guards. He was still wearing his hand cuffs, but he was allowed to set his tray down. As if he wanted to eat any of the shit that they had put on it.

"Jonathan Crane," Doctor Burton greeted, nodding sagely as if he was some old Buddhist Monk.

"Doctor Burton." Jonathan did not nod, nor did he smile or let his glare go, attempting to stare down the old man with his steely blue gaze. He was not impressed with the doctor's appearance, not in the slightest.

"I am simply here to observe Miss Clark. Ignore me as best you can," Doctor Burton said, trying to keep up a look of professionalism. Jonathan decided that this would be the best course of action, himself, but it was not of any help from the doctor. After a moment, a look of his own professionalism (long since unnecessary, from the day that he was put in this damn place for the very first time) turned his face into an ice-cold mask. It was a mask he had not donned in a long time, and though he knew this he was unaware of the crack that turned his eyes gleeful, excited by the fear that his knowledge and powerful will would elicit from such a weak man as Doctor Burton.

"I would never interfere with an experiment on a patient." A lie, of course, that shook the doctor to the core. His eyes shone, but he made no motion to show Jonathan otherwise. His own statuesque attitude was sliding away, dripping off his fingertips as they shook. A battle more than won, and Jonathan turned his eyes to the door as the guards stationed outside of it separated, and Brianna stepped between them.

There was a bruise forming on her lower jaw, and something deep inside of Jonathan jerked at his stomach, twisting it in a way that made him want to squirm in his seat. His lips twitched just slightly, though he wasn't sure if they were _his_ lips, or Scarecrow's.

The beast wriggled beneath the surface of his skin, but Jonathan was good at not letting it show, not in this damned place. Another mask, stashed beneath the floorboards in an apartment somewhere. It's been so long that he's forgotten where, but he has ways of finding out. He was sure that if he bothered to find it when he got out it wouldn't be a problem.

Brianna cautiously took a seat across from Jonathan, her hands cuffed behind her as a tray was set in front of her. This wasn't something that happened often—only when someone wasn't being 'good,' as it were, and even then there was only a small gap between behaving and misbehaving so badly that one was simply shoved into isolation. She stared down at her own tray for a long time, her brown hair dripping over her shoulders, and she did not eat.

"What is your biggest fear?"

Jonathan and Dr. Burton's heads snapped up immediately to stare at Brianna. She hadn't looked up, but a smile was set dauntingly on her lips. Immediately her doctor began to scribble on the clipboard he had let fall to his side, excitement and curiosity on his face. The scratching of his pen filled the room, but Jonathan couldn't hear it. The only thing he could hear were her words, echoing around in his head.

"Mine?" She looked up then, her blue eyes drilling into his sharply. They were bright, burning dangerously in a way that made his skin itch. He was leaning forward slightly, hungry for the answer. He wanted to know what she feared. Was it really so easy that she would tell him on her own, no coaxing necessary? The one thing he wanted so desperately to know about her, the one thing he would invest his time in, she was going to spit out across the dinner table _now_, at this very moment.

She smirked at him, her pretty lips curving upwards in a smile that could kill. It was dark in a small way, in a miniscule way. If he had seen her on the street and she had tossed him a small smile, he would have thought it was normal at that moment, and later it would itch at the back of his mind and he wouldn't know why until he heard about some death on the news or killed someone himself. It spoke of death, of impending doom. Her smile spoke of a storm.

But until then, there was sun peering downward through the clouds. And it chose to grace him.

"I'm afraid," she murmured, and all eyes were on her. She stretched out her elbows, but she couldn't go far with her cuffed wrists. She raised them over her head, her arms bent at awkward angles. Some mocking stance of Christ, of a hanging corpse. "Of scarecrows."

Jonathan blinked, and then she laughed wickedly, throwing back her head and Scarecrow saw the Joker in her as she did this. Her chest heaved and she threw herself backwards over her chair, and for some reason Jonathan compared her to a possessed body. This was not the Brianna he had observed.

This was Emma Wolfe.

Doctor Burton appeared disgruntled, but he made no comments, instead opting to write silently. Emma's laughter died eventually, but she didn't say another word, simply going back to her original position of bowing over her tray and smiling her dangerous, before-the-storm smile. Jonathan leaned back in his chair and watched her as she smiled, simply curious as to where this girl had come from.

It didn't take long for him to come to the realization that something must have happened to her as a child to cause this sort of mental separation. The good doctor wanted to know more—he wanted to study her, to ask her, to force the information from between her pretty pink lips. Mostly he wanted to hear her scream.

He noticed that Brianna did not fear—that hadn't escaped him, and he hadn't wanted to accept it.

But Emma feared.

* * *

Yuki sighed and ran a hand through his hair, staring at the envelope in his hand. He knew that he shouldn't be anywhere near Brianna's house in the first place, but she had disappeared. Vanished into thin air, and he was _worried._

He had figured he would check around for her spare key, but there was no need. Her door was unlocked. And if that wasn't worrisome enough, she hadn't been getting her mail. Yuki pressed his lips together, fiddling with the one plain envelope that had caught his eye, apart from all of the bills and advertisements for unimportant things. It was dirty, and he was sure that the little dash of red on the corner was blood. The thought caused him to shiver and he made a point of not touching the little splotch.

She had nine messages not yet listened to blinking green on her answering machine, and he knew that seven of them would be his worried voice begging her to call him back and to stop ignoring him. He knew now that she wasn't ignoring him-she was gone. Where she had gone to, he had no idea. She had been absent from his life for a month now-disappearing without a word to him or anyone in his work.

What was even stranger, however, was that the blond woman had seemed to vanish, too. He thought her name was Kendall though he wasn't absolutely sure. That, and John quit, the nice but somewhat quite guy that worked on the sports column which only pissed off their boss because he had to find someone new to do all those various jobs. Yuki had only nodded and listened politely-he was too busy thinking about the night he and Brianna had spent together. Had it meant nothing to her? He had always been sure that it meant they made a connection.

Yuki frowned as he looked around her apartment, in wonderment at the neatness. He had only been here once before, that same night, but he had been a bit too... _preoccupied _to notice. He sighed, placing the letter on the counter. He had decided to grab her mail on the way up, but was surprised to find it had been sent from Blackgate State Penitentiary of all places. He wouldn't go as far as to open it, but he was still curious and frowned deeper as his fingers lingered on the pale envelope.

Behind him Yuki could hear the noise of the other apartment people bustling about. Someone was walking down the hallway, the couple above was arguing about something, a child laughed somewhere else but it didn't sound correct. A chill struck down Yuki's spine and he frowned, glaring at the yellow wallpaper that covered the kitchen walls.

Yuki's fingers clenched into a fist as he realized he should probably get going, and he swiftly turned around, only to suddenly realize that he wasn't alone. Someone was standing in the doorway, and he quickly felt sheepish, realizing that it must be one of her neighbors who didn't recognize him and thought he was breaking into her apartment.

However, after a second look, Yuki realized that he recognized him and smiled awkwardly. He opened his mouth to greet him, staring into the green eyes of his ex-coworker.

* * *

Upstairs, the old, slightly overweight Katherine shrieked, gripping her favorite vase in her hands as she breathed heavily, face red with anxiety. "I _saw _her, Kyle! I _fucking saw her _in _bed _with you!" Tears streaked down her face and silvery-yellow strings of hair, long since having gathered split ends, sticking to her salt-and-mascara covered cheeks.

"Shut your goddamn face, Katherine! You didn't see shit-you just-" But Kyle was stopped short by the sound of a gunshot.

* * *

_**A/U: Yeah, it's been a while. School and all. But the school play that I'm in just finished, so I hope to get around to writing a bit more. :/ Also, I'm using a cheap-o word processor that apparently cannot find spelling errors, so I'll be doing most of that on here, where it actually does read them, thanks to the internet and my wonderful computer. I'll do my best to catch them all, but if there are any that I've missed, feel free to call me out.**_

_**Also, how do we like Emma? **_


End file.
